The Last Three Weeks
by Conangse
Summary: Snape is forced to visit Harry after the Dobby incident. After meeting the Dursley’s he takes him and has to keep him…
1. Chapter 1

Kingsley Shakelbolt read the memo

Title: The Last Three Weeks…

Summary: Snape is forced to visit Harry after the Dobby incident. After meeting the Dursley's he takes him and has to keep him…

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary Snape is forced to visit Harry after the Dobby incident. After meeting the Dursley's he takes him and has to keep him…

The owls of the Ministry of Magic were uniform and grey, much like the bureaucrats that sent them throughout the world. Kingsley Shakelbolt's Great Grey Owl, or Strix nubulosa, that had soared through the skies above Hogwarts, was a particularly fine example and it was with the owl's trademark efficiency that it delivered a letter to Dumbledore's office on that cool summer evening, July 31st. That was at 9 o'clock. It was now 9:45 and whereas Dumbledore had originally read the letter alone he had now been joined by Severus Snape.

"Last week, Severus, there was a breech of the Decree for the Restriction of Under-Age Sorcery at Number 4 Privet Drive. You are aware of this." It was not a question, though Snape nodded none the less. "The Improper Use of Magic Office monitors residences where such incidences have taken place with greater scrutiny and detail than where they have not. Kingsley Shakelbolt, currently the Order's ears at the Ministry, has sent me this Memo," He raised it in his hand. "Off the record, of course. It records the contents of an internal-memo from the office of Malfalda Hopkirk. The message it contains is one that troubles me greatly. It seems that Harry's status has changed within the Dursley household and not for the better."

At this Severus raised an eyebrow but remained silent. His dislike for Potter was no great secret. His opinion was that for Potter, the Golden boy-who-lived, to be taken down a peg or two (or more) would be no bad thing. It would do Potter good, it would do his friends good and no doubt it would do the wizarding world a service. Potter's arrogance was equal to his father's, inherited with his looks and hair. His attitude had led himself and others into danger, almost fatally last year. An attitude change, in his opinion, could only improve the boy.

This facial motion was noted by Dumbledore. A harder tone entered his voice. "Through this series of Ministry memoranda the information that bars have been attached to Harry's windows has come to me. Mrs Figg has reported that Harry has not been seen since the casting of the Hover Charm."

At his Snape gave a derisive snort and, interrupting, said, "If Potter's family has decided to punish him for his actions I do not see how it concerns me. Not only has he risked his own safety but also the exposure of our world. There is a pattern. Just suppose he had attempted a more dangerous spell than a Hovering Charm. If his grades are anything like what they are in Potions then I am sorely surprised that there is not a smoking crater between Numbers 2 and 6 Privet Drive. No. His absence is simply explained. He is grounded, or whatever it is that those Muggles do when he misbehaves, though if Potter's behaviour is any indication, I doubt that they do anything at all."

"Severus, he has not communicated with his friends either," Dumbledore replied emotively. "I have questioned Mr Weasley, Miss Granger and Hagrid. They have heard nothing."

Dumbledore fell silent. The final statement, its weight hanging in the air between the men, was ominous. Even Snape had to privately acknowledge that this was unexpected though he betrayed nothing in his face. Potter was inseparable in his classes and around the school grounds from Weasley and Granger and for them not to correspond in the holidays did appear unusual. Snape would imagine school friends communicated in the summer, he wouldn't know from experience. Snape echoed Dumbledore's silence in a pensive manner.

"I feel a visit is would be appropriate." This statement removed Snape from his reverie.

"And I suppose I am to conduct this visit?"

"Yes"

The finality of Dumbledore's answer allowed no argument. Snape seethed as the silence flooded back.

Snape appeared in Privet Drive with a pop. He was outside Number 43 on the opposite side on the road from the Dursley's house, which was obscured from view due to the curve of the road. He walked along the pavement towards Number 4. In the light from the orange streetlamps spaced at 100 feet intervals Snape's shadow stretch both in front and behind him at once: the depth of its darkness depending on his distance from the light.

This night was particularly dark and overcast. It matched his mood. He did not appreciate having to do Dumbledore's bidding. However, he was at hand, and with his membership of the Order of the Phoenix as it was, he was obliged to go. Snape quickened his pace. The soon he got there and checked on the brat the sooner he could leave. He would probable see the boy asleep in bed at this hour or if not sulking because he couldn't leave the house to lounge in the garden and sunbath. The house came into view. What he saw darkened his mood. He would not be quickly in and out this evening.

There was an old turquoise Ford Anglia suspended in mid-air beneath the second floor window. From the damage around the window both above and below the frame the recognisance surrounding the Dursley's recent refurbishment was accurate.

By this time Snape stood beneath the car and could hear voices within the room, above the hum of the engine. He could not make out the words. Snape moved to the front door of the building removing his wand from his sleeve. Silently he opened the door stepping over the threshold onto the doormat. Leaning the door closed and using the orange light through the panes of glass to illuminate his way, he orientated himself. The stairs were before him with a locked cupboard beneath it. Along the corridor lay the kitchen-come-dining room and a living room. There were what Snape knew to be televisions in both rooms.

The voices continued to murmur above. Snape mounted the stairs and began to ascend. The bottom one creaked loudly. The voices paused. Snape held his breath. The voices resumed. Snape continued upwards and stood on the landing glancing at the doors. The Potter door stood out.

On Potter's door there was a flap, floor level. There was also a hefty lock newly fitted into the door with a shiny new key hanging on a nail in the frame. Snape's ears picked up a quiet scrapping. Snape crept closer to it and stood in front of it. Millimetres away.

Click. The voices ceased.

The door swung inwards.

What met Severus's eyes was almost unbelievable. Crouched on the floor, level with the lock were Fred and George Weasley, staring upwards, at the window in the car was Ron Weasley looking askance and kneeling next to a hole in a floorboards, a book, ironically a copy of Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger, held in his hands, Harry James Potter.

"What are you doing?!" Snape's voice was deadly quiet. It was addressed to the room at large though his eyes were fixed, unmoving, on Harry. "What are you doing?!" He said it slightly louder now.

"Please, Sir. Please don't wake my Uncle," said Harry. There was notable fear in his voice.

"That will be the least of your worries," however Snape's voice remained very quiet. He did not need a muggle to complicate his visit. "Someone start speaking." All four boys obliged. "One at a time"

"We came to rescue Harry" said Ron.

"Why?"

The Weasleys stared agog, mouths gaping. As if the room, the cat flap, the bars were answer enough to answer the question. Then speaking very slowly Fred began. "Well…" Fred gave the same points as Dumbledore. George chipped in. Ron contributed. Harry remained silent. "…and they were starving him."

Snape looked at Harry down his hooked nose very coldly. Harry did look very small there on the floor staring up at him. There was a grunt from Vernon in the other room. Harry's eye's flicked to the door, breaking contact.

Equally slowly, with and incredulous tone in his voice, Snape spoke, "And so you thought you would leave. With no-one knowing where you were" The Weasleys attempted to interrupt "Silence." Snape's eye's flashed dangerously. There was a louder grunt from the other room, which then fell completely still. Snape stepped into the bedroom, closing the door muffling the sound of their voices. His sallow skin gleamed slightly. "Do you have any comprehension of what danger you are in. What danger you have created for you friends." The anger in Snape's voice was audible and a white foam spittle was forming on his lips.

"You, Weasley's, back in that car now."

"But, sir!"

"NOW."

The Weasley's dared not disobey; there was madness in Snape's voice. But, if looks could have killed Snape would have been dead a hundred times by the Weasleys. They looked piteously at Harry. Ron mouthed a silent "sorry" as his brothers clambered through the window. There was a creek outside the door.

Ron revved the engine and pulled away just as the door to Harry's room opened, Uncle Vernon spilling into the room and knocking into the back of Snape as he toppled forward, not meeting the resistance he expected from the "locked" door, as he had put his weight against it in a silent test. Listening. Snape span around.

Vernon went berserk. Roaring like a hippopotamus he bellowed in rage and came towards Snape. Petunia had come to the door. Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of Dudley, who scampered back to his room. Snape drew his wand. Vernon drew still. His piggy little eyes focusing almost crossed on the very tip of Snape's wand. His raging stopped.

"Out. Get out. GET OUT!!" His voice was suppressed but clear. "I HAVE HAD IT"

"You," said Snape pointedly indicating with his wand, "cannot order me anywhere."

His eyes still fixed on the wand Vernon Dursley said, "Get out, Freak."

The harshness in the voice shocked Snape, as did Harry's reaction. He began to move. Very swiftly, with purpose. He resumed gathering his belongings as he had done before his Uncle had entered, before Snape had arrived. He was going he was getting out. He didn't have a plan. Ron had gone. He had no where to go. One look at Uncle Vernon's face said it wasn't worth trying to stay. Hedwig hooted.

Dursley backed away from the wand carefully. Clearing Harry's way to the door.

"What," Snape said a look of immeasurable rage on his face, but rather than it being directed at Harry, Snape's eyes were now focussing more closely on Vernon. "What did you call him" Vernon was silent. "SPEAK"

"Freak… What he is."

Snape had been called freak. Snape had been called a lot of things, but freak stood out particularly painfully. Snape had been called freak by his father.

"Harry. Are those all your things?"

"N-no. My school things are in the cupboard under the stairs," Harry said breathlessly. Was he leaving? Was he leaving the Dursley's? WAIT. Was he having to go with Snape. He diplomatically said, "sir," after a pause.

Snape's wand left Dursley's face. "ACCIO TRUNK, ACCIO CAULDRON." There was the sound of splintering wood as the trunk and heavy metal cauldron broke through the sub-stair door. Aunt Petunia screamed. There was a distant whimper from Dudley's room. "Anything else, Potter"

"Nimbus … Sir."

Snape's lips thinned but said quietly, "Accio Nimbus 2000." There was a wising noise as the bolt came forward. Harry was inwardly glad that the door had been broken by the cauldron and trunk and not with the Nimbus 2000. Snape was inwardly sour that he couldn't have left the broom here. For a second time Snape redirected his wand, this time to the luggage and bewitched it so it bobbed in the air, feather light.

"Out."

And with that Harry, with his luggage bobbing in an invisibly linked chain behind him left with Snape…

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Okay guys first things first

Author's Note: Okay guys, first things first… THANK YOU for the reviews. I also tender my whole hearted apology for my mistake in the first chapter. I am now all too aware, due to the numerous reviews pointing it out to me VERY clearly, Harry does not have a Firebolt (yet) but is still a Nimbus 2000 rider. Any future reference to his broom will be the Nimbus 2000 or simply his broomstick (in bold and maybe capitals). Thanks. Conangse.

In silence, Harry and Snape walked out of the Driveway of Number 4 and along Privet Drive, Snape in front, setting a swift pace, and Harry in the rear, the trunk, cauldron and Nimbus 2000 sandwiched between them, Hedwig stowed in her cage within the cauldron. A chill summer breeze that cut into the air buffeted the objects causing them to dangle like washing hung on a line.

"Put on a jumper, Potter." Snape did not turn.

"I'm not cold."

"Put one on," said Snape, adding sarcastically, "I'm sure Harry Potter wouldn't want to get sick."

Snape was not happy: he had already gone against one of the main aims of the Order, to keep Potter with his relatives, where he would still be protected by the ancient magic his mother had shielded him with. He was now walking through a muggle suburb with the son of his hated enemy and he did not know what to do. He could hardly turn back and restore Potter to the Dursley's and so was drawn between two equally weighted options: Spinner's End or Hogwarts. Snape continued to think on the matter. At least he had the luxury of time.

There was a crashing ka-plunk behind him and Snape snapped around. Harry had broken the trunk's enchantment. On his touch, the trunk had fallen from the air spilling its contents over the pavement and into the road: the clasp had broken. Snape merely stared coldly at Harry. Did the boy have no common sense? Did he not know to grasp the handle? Did he not think?

Harry grabbed a jumper from the mishmash of assorted school gear, clothes and personal belongings that was now spread in the gutter. He pulled it over his head angrily. It was grey, Dudley's and particularly worn, there was a patch on the sleeve and dirt down the front. Snape sneered in minor repulsion at Harry's choice. Evidently Harry struggled as much to care for his things, as his hair. Snape took in the rest of Harry's ensemble: Pyjama bottoms in blue and white stripes and a mismatched pyjama top in green, the collar of which half stood out of the scoop necked jumper. On his feet was a broken down pair of trainers, the sole of one hanging limply off of the vamp, creating a flapping sound on every alternate step. His shoe laces had been snapped and re-tied.

Snape did not even have to say anything. Harry immediately started to repack his trunk stuffing the items in haphazardly while shooting resentful glances at Snape, who he knew could easily repack his case with a flick of the wrist. Harry would not allow himself to ask. He could manage perfectly well on his own and he did not need Professor Snape's help for anything. He would have been fine if Snape had not arrived. He would have been happy and perfectly safe with the Weasleys to spend the remainder of the holidays with Ron.

Snape pointed his wand at Harry. "Reparo" The clasp was fixed. "Carry it."

Snape resumed the swift pace of the walk. The flapping of Harry's sole created a strange rhythm, as the weight of the oversized case caused him to slop to the right. He gritted his teeth as the skin on his hands was rubbed and pulled downward by the weight of the trunk, making them ache. They continued in this manner for 30 minutes moving out of suburbia and into the borders of an extensive park, the assembled statuary of which overlooked a playing field. A faint wispy mist was beginning to form across the grass, distorting the markings of the pitch.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, while shifting the trunk to his other hand for the 6th time, a process he had been doing at increasing intervals as the minutes had worn on.

"Where are we going, Sir," Snape corrected.

"Where are we going, Sir?" said Harry petulantly. This was rapidly becoming very old. It was the early morning, he was tired, his friends had been dismissed and he was marching on a road to no where with a man who he hated and who he was hated by. It was getting colder by the minute. Still, thought Harry, the mornings were always fresh.

There was silence for a beat. Snape had no answer for Harry as he didn't know where they were going himself. However even he had to acknowledge that they couldn't walk interminably.

"We are going to find a fireplace," Snape said with a finality that belied his uncertainty.

"Why? … … … sir."

"So we can Flu," said Snape, exasperated by Potter's ignorance. He knew that Little Whinging was not a densely populated magical area, part of the reason the Dursley's residence was so suitable for protecting Potter was that, aside for the squib Mrs Figg, the nearest magical family were five miles away. There were few good wizards near, though there were few bad ones. He would have to go to the Dunitches. Their home was the nearest one connected to the flu network and although he had no particular connection to the family, dropping Albus's name was sure to illicit a positive response. He would have to get Potter and his belongings there before the town awoke. He would not enjoy having to explain to Muggle policemen why he was walking the streets with a pyjama clad adolescent and a miscellany of what would appear to them to be household equipment. It was going to be getting light soon.

"Wha-," started Harry, but he never got to finish asking what it was to Flu. The temperature had fallen further to unnatural levels, but that was not what had stopped Harry in his tracks. There was screaming. Pained screaming, splitting his skull. Harry fell to his knees, clasping his head in his hands, his breath turning to vapour before his face.

A grey cloaked Dementor glided silently towards them, fronds of mist spreading before it like a great white fungus. Snape raised his wand stepping back towards Harry using his free hand to grip him by the scruff of the neck, forcing him to his feet. He thrust Harry behind a statue. Blood was rushing into his head, white-noise deafening him. Immediately he tried to dreg from his mind his happy memories… His few happy memories... His happy memory.

"Expecto Patronum," bellowed Snape. Out from the wand's tip emerged a silver Doe, 4 and a half feet high. The Patronus charged towards the lone Dementor, whose sucking mouth pushed against the air in front of it like a child squashing its face against the glass of a car window. The Doe advanced further with its silver light growing in intensity. Searing a red half-life image of the Doe on Snape's retina, the Patronus gave a final sunburst of light repelling the Dementor from the park.

With Snape's happy feelings, the Patronus faded.

This was dangerous...Very dangerous. There were rouge Dementor's afoot, he had the sodding boy-who-lived with him and currently his nearest hope of a fireplace was 5 miles away, walkable if the road were secure but now…

"Potter," said Snape, turning to Harry. "Potter!" Snape received no response. From where he had shoved Harry he could see only a leg protruding, the broken shoe now immobile in the now balmy morning air. He stalked around the statue and saw Harry lying unconscious, sweat seeping out of his forehead to form pearly beads. Snape squatted down beside him, grasping Harry's forearm and dragging him to his feet. Harry's head lolled weakly onto its side. Snape took him to a bench near by positioning him on the bench so that his feet were raised above his head rested on the arm of the bench to increase the blood flow.

They had to reach safety. The longer Harry was exposed out here the greater danger he was in, and it was Snape who had exposed him to this danger. He had removed him from his home and if Potter were to die it was his neck on the line. A spell in Azkaban was not appealing. He had avoided it through his years as a death eater and was damned if he was going to be sent there now. No Potter would survive tonight and then he could be placed in the care of someone else.

Snape looked at the resources available to him. He had his wand and school boy magical equipment. However, Snape had not been a double agent without the ability to be innovative and resourceful. The Nimbus 2000 was possibly his greatest tool at the moment. He had never been a great flyer, one of his greatest resentments of both Potter Major and Potter Minor, but his skills would be sufficient for his purposes.

He turned to Harry's property, opening the trunk and retrieving a quill and some parchment. He scribbled a quick note and unhinged Hedwig's cage door, attaching the rolled parchment to the owl's leg while trying to avoid its beak when she saw Harry lying reclined, his skin resembling a waxed death mask.

"Tss," Snape hissed in pain as Hedwig's beak sank into his finger. "Take it to Dumbledore." He said releasing her into the air. Hedwig took flight, circling once before heading northwards to Hogwarts, her white body shrinking from sight until she was indistinguishable from the stars above.

"Reducio," said Snape pointing his wand at the luggage and shrinking it to pocked size which was where he stowed them. Only the Nimbus 2000 remained fully up to scale.

Snape turned once more to Harry, who still looked desperately ill. Some colour was coming back to his face but he had not regained consciousness. He came towards Potter, raising him onto his feet and taking him over to the broom. Holding Harry up with one arm, Snape held his free hand over the broom.

"Up," he commanded. The broom leapt upwards into his grip. He mounted it and lifted Harry to sit in front of him, supporting him with one hand while gripping the handle of the broom with the other. He kicked off the ground and soared into the air, over the statues and playing field, over Privet Drive and Little Whinging and towards Spinner's End.

At least that solves one dilemma; Spinner's End was inordinately closer than Hogwarts.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Harry

At 6 in the morning Snape arrived at Spinner's End with Harry. The sun had been up for just over and hour and, aside from a milkman whom Snape had been forced to Oblivate, no one had seen them. Harry had awoken half an hour before their arrival though had said nothing allowing the journey to continue in merciful silence which left Snape able to focus on his thoughts. They touched down in the middle of the potholed tarmac, which was in a state of general disrepair.

General disrepair was an accurate description of Spinner's End and its surrounding neighbourhood. Snape's house, though not viewable by muggle eyes, would not have looked out of place if it had been visible. The bloom of the estate had certainly gone to seed. The lawns were wild, over grown scraps of land with dandelions scattered through the green carpets. One had a car jacked up on blocks resting on the dirt with dented, scratched paintwork and etched glass. The doors and windows of many of the derelict houses were boarded up. The lower levels were daubed with graffiti displaying the tags of local gangs. Rubbish littered the streets. Snape caught a crisp packed between the tarmac and his heel before picking it up and placing it in his pocket. It was worse than he remembered.

Spinner's End itself was perfectly camouflaged within its environment, though it didn't have the Muggle teenagers' impromptu art scrawled across its face: the lawn was unmanaged, and the flowerbeds beneath the windows were racked with bind root and knot weed which twisted among the original inhabitants of the bed. The black front door that stood within a curve-topped porch had dried out flaking paint; the serpentine knocker's ornate scaled detail was masked by a coat of red rust. Snape walked to the door, opened it and gestured Harry inside before sealing it behind them.

The house's interior was little better than the exterior. With Hogwarts essentially being Snape's home for 46 of the 52 weeks in the year, with him staying at the school during both Easter and Christmas holidays as well as the regular terms, Spinner's End faced long term neglect and it showed. There was dense filth on the windows giving a murky quality to the light that caught the fleeting dust moots in the air of the small entrance. There was a pervasive smell of mildew and damp.

Snape escorted Harry into the first room off of the little hall: a living room with dilapidated furnishings. Snape directed Harry to the worn chintz sofa. He placed the broom in the corner, letting it rest brush upwards to prevent the twigs becoming split or broken before he turned his attention back to Potter. He would certainly need chocolate; that could be useful right this moment.

"Stay there and touch nothing," said Snape before leaving the room and going to the kitchen. The tap of the sink dripped and there was a thick, gooey moss growing along the track it had made as it ran down the side of the basin. He reached into the cupboard and checked his provisions. Aside from some staples, he did have everything he needed to treat Potter. He would have to get more supplies soon. In the kitchen, he unwrapped the chocolate halfway down and returned to Harry.

"Eat it all," he said, throwing it at Harry who looked up listlessly as if in a kind of torpor. Some colour had come back to his face; unfortunately it was more of a yellow pallor rather than a healthy pink. He looked more jaundiced than anything else.

Harry carefully removed the rest of the wrapper and bit down on the chocolate, his fear of poisoning by Snape dulled by exhaustion. It was stale and had a white powdered dust upon one the exposed section most likely due to its age, he supposed. He imagined Snape had little occasion to eat chocolate. It didn't taste good, in fact it tasted shocking, but it did the trick. Dull warmth spread through his body, washing outwards from his stomach into his finger tips and down to his toes. He began to fell better. He scoffed half the bar before placing it down on the arm of the sofa. He quickly removed it at a look from Snape and began to eat it more slowly, pondering while the chocolate melted over his warming hands.

"Sir, what was that…thing?" asked Harry turning to look at the Professor.

"If you paid attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes you would know," said Snape. He got nothing more than a blank look from Harry. "I would suggest you look Dementors up in your books in the morning."

"It is the morning."

"I will not have cheek from you Potter," Snape snapped, his nostrils flaring slightly. There was a tense silence for a time. Harry sucked down on his chocolate. He was beginning to feel really drowsy. He took another, larger bite from the chocolate.

Harry thought desperately for something to say in the awkward silence. Stifling a yawn, "Thanks for the chocolate, sir," was the best he could come up with. Hopefully Snape would at least find him polite. He was beginning to feel as if a muffler had been placed around his head. The warmth from the chocolate was making his eyes heavy and his head nodded forward, his strength pleasantly draining from him just as in the first stages of sleep. He took five dreamy blinks, staring up through his eyelashes at the window. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was Hedwig approaching the windowpane at speed.

Snape was mildly impressed. In its powdered form a Sleeping Draught was double its liquid strength. Two blinks was usually the maximum.

­­­­­

With Harry now dead to the world, Snape turned to the owl now sitting on the windowsill now pecking at the glass. He opened it to allow Hedwig to enter and detached the parchment from the owl's leg. From his pocket he withdrew the miniature cage, engorging it to its normal size and coaxed Hedwig inside it with some owl treats while refilling the water. Hedwig refuelled while Snape turned his attention to the letter which read as follows.

Dear Severus,

Thank you for the timely information about the most recent magical activity in Privet Drive. The Ministry is reluctant to acknowledge the presence of the Dementor though has noted that a Patronus was cast in the vicinity of Mr Potter. However its being there merely highlights the necessity that Mr Potter remains under your protection for the last three weeks of the holidays.

In anticipation of your objections, I remind you of your duty of care to the school's pupils which extends into the holidays and also that this care is due regardless of any personal feelings you may have towards them or their families. I would also like to repeat the sentiments of our earlier conversation that you are who Harry.

In short, I shall expect to see Mr Potter on the first day of the autumn term fit and well. You removed him from the Dursley's and you will have to live, quite literally, with the consequences of that action.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore.

Snape crumpled the letter into a ball and stared hard at Harry asleep on the couch. Potter was staying and he was now resigned to that, but that did not mean he was glad about it. He resolved that he would make Potter's time here as useful as possible, for himself.

Snape straightened up and rose to his feet letting his eyes fall once more on Harry, a smile breaking his face as he wondered how Potter would like gutting rats and pickling brains for the next couple of weeks. He ascended the stairs, Potter would have to sleep somewhere and the Draught was powerful enough to maintain his slumber for a good time yet. He prepared a spare room.

Harry awoke with a stiff neck; putting a hand to his mouth he wiped some moisture from his chin. He had an incredible pressure in his head and as soon as he'd raised himself into a sitting position he had to lie himself down. Groggy and nauseous he lay on the sofa feeling the velveteen shapes of the chintz on his face. Despite this his sleep had revived him to some extent and his mind felt clearer. He was aware he was alone and that Professor Snape had brought him here.

Harry tried to sit up again, though this time more slowly. He got a better look of the room. He saw a fireplace filled with the burnt out embers of a long extinguished fire, it had a small metal bowl hanging next to it on a chain, above the mantle piece was a large mirror hanging slightly at an angle off of a long chain nailed into the wall; directly opposite him was an armchair in the same black and gold chintz material as the sofa, there was also a small, mahogany coffee table, whose legs had been carved to resemble the talons of a great bird clutching an egg, the bottom of which had been flattened out, between the suite; light from the dirty windows filtered through the sheets of glass onto a bookcase set into a corner, two deep in books so large that they could only be referred to as hefty tombs.

Looking at the bookcase, Harry began to read the titles of the books, several he had seen before, though only in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library when he, Ron and Hermione had been searching for Nicholas Flamel. They looked very dark. Harry raised himself off the sofa and moved towards it, catching a glance of himself in the mirror as he went. He looked drawn; his hair was greasy and looked even more scruffy than usual. He turned his attention back to the book shelf, reaching out to one of the lower shelves on Dark Magical Creatures to look up Dementors.

"I thought I told you to stay where you were and not to touch anything," said Snape from the doorway. Harry's hand had stopped just short of the book. He whipped it back and stood upright as if he had been shocked. "It seems, Potter, you are intent on breaking rules here, just as you are at school."

"I-."

"Do not interrupt me," Snape said. Harry reflected on the irony that that was just what Snape had done to him, but thought that telling Snape that was the quickest way to an early grave: he didn't even want to think of the imaginative things Snape could brew up to kill him. "You shall be staying in my house for the remainder of the holiday and it would be advantageous for you not to aggravate me. Now that you are finally awake, I suggest you unpack and change into something smarter."

Snape gave a final sneering look down Harry's outfit before leading him upstairs, showing him first a dingy bathroom on a small landing and then along the corridor, past a closed door and then on to what Harry assumed to be a spare room. It was decorated in white with fresh linen on the bed and smelt clinical, like a hospital which had been quickly scoured. There was a desk by the window and a chest of draws opposite it. Harry's trunk was open at the end of the bed, though his cauldron was absent. Harry went over to the trunk and looked in it.

"Sir, my wand's gone."

"It is gone because I have taken it," said Snape with a snide smile, removing Harry's wand from his breast pocket.

"Give it back to me," demanded Harry, reaching to try and snatch it from Snape's grasp. The Professor merely held it above Harry's head at just such a distance that Harry would think he could reach it. He toyed with it like a child dangling a piece of string above a kitten.

"Why?" said Snape abruptly, memories of James Potter flooding back to him, "You shan't need it while you are here, unless you really want to be expelled with further underage magic."

"I didn't use any magic," said Harry exasperatedly.

"Do NOT lie, boy. There are few things I like less than arrogant, little liars. I would advise you NOT to lie to me, Potter."

"I am not a liar," Harry stated. "I didn't do anything, I didn't lie and I didn't do any magic. I don't even know how to do a Hover charm. It wasn't me, it was a House Elf, Dobby, he wanted to stop me returning to Hogwarts.

"The sheer scale of your fibs inspires disbelief, Potter. The fact you know what a House Elf is and not a Dementor merely displays your woeful ignorance. It is typical of your character that you are aware of something that would worship you though not of something that would do you harm."

"I'm telling the truth."

"Unpack," Snape walked out of the room locking the door behind him. A few hours locked in there might make Potter reconsider his story. "I suggest you think again about the answer you just gave me. I will be back later."

"I'm not lying," said Harry running forward and pounding on the door with his fists. Snape continued to walk down the stairs, unmoved.

TBC…

You know I'm going to ask you to review… so just do it. Don't make me compel you.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry continued to pound the door with his fists, rage overcoming him. He released a high grunt of anger giving the door a final thump before throwing himself onto the bed, letting tears of frustration role down his face and soak into his pillow. No matter how he told them, how he articulated the story nobody ever believed him, they only thought he was lying. He could forgive his Aunt and Uncle for their disbelief but even Wizards refused to accept he was telling the truth. If Harry hadn't been there himself he wouldn't have believed it. Now Snape had him locked in this room, this house, and he was trapped in the same situation as before except this time he didn't have Hedwig to keep him company.

Harry took an almighty sniff, retaining the runny snot that was coming from his nose and rubbed his eyes vigorously to stop himself from crying. His stomach gave a gurgle and a slight spasm that told him that he was hungry: aside from some chocolate he had eaten nothing since the previous evening's offering though the cat flap, cold tomato soup and stale bread. Looking at his watch he could see it was half past twelve: Snape could leave him hear for hours. He could let him starve. No one knew where he was he had no way of talking to anyone. He was utterly alone and for all he knew he would never see Hogwarts or his friends again.

Harry stopped rubbing at his eyes and just let himself cry.

As the pounding on the door stopped, Severus glanced up briefly to the ceiling before turning back to what he had been doing. Harry's banging had reverberated through the whole of the house even reaching Snape's ears in the cellar. Snape used the bottom section of the house to store some of his rarer potions and ingredients and also items either too delicate, valuable or dangerous to be kept at the school. He arranged all of these items in neat, alphabetized rows along the walls of the cellar. Between the U and W sat what he was looking for, V - Veritaserum. Potter was going to tell him the truth. Potter was going to tell him everything whether he wanted to or not.

Having retrieved the veil of clear and potent truth serum Snape ascended the stairs and walked into the kitchen placing the tiny bottle next to a plate. The plate had nothing on it. Snape would have to buy some food later. He didn't want to leave Potter here alone, however, so he retrieved some 'dried food' from the cupboard. 'Dried food' was effectively a wizard version of a muggle ready meal and was equally appealing in terms of taste. However, they had relatively little nutritional value only really filling a gap. Too many of them and you put on weight quite literally overnight. Snape had heard of cases at St. Mungo's of people who had eaten so many of them that they had to be deflated by medi-wizards. You couldn't live off of them.

Snape poured the contents of the packet onto the plate and touched the tip of his wand to the dusty, multicoloured powder. There was a low slurp as the dust swelled into, in this case, a ham sandwich and a green salad. The only real thing that Snape did to the meal was dress it: salad cream, a little oil and the clear Veritaserum. After pouring a glass of water, Snape went to take the meal to Harry.

Yet again his journey up the flight of stairs was not uninterrupted. Normally owls were infrequent visitors to the area not only due to the lack of need for them, with Snape receiving relatively little post and also being the only wizard for a 30 mile radius, but also because nature of the neighbourhood meant the owls were rather reluctant to fly into it. The muggle children and teenagers tended to attack anything that moved throwing rocks and shooting air rifles at the birds flying about their business. For a time, the owls had refused to enter the area at all, meaning Snape had to collect his post from the local post office. It wasn't until Snape had hexed some of the Muggle teen's weapons, threatened to disembowel them and painstakingly removed all loose rocks, bricks and stones from the area the owls were willing to return. In any regards the teenagers had lost interests in Scary Snape. The owl that fluttered through the open window was taking no chances, however. It swooped low at the window before loosing the letter from its leg un-aided: it never even landed. The letter was the traditional Hogwarts one with the school's crest on the reverse. It was addressed to Harry Potter, Severus Snape's Spare Bedroom, Spinner's End. It merely served to underline the permanence of Snape's situation. Well that would mean a trip to Diagon Alley.

Snape resumed his walk. The door to Harry's room was still locked and listening carefully Snape could hear a persistent whimpering and felt a sudden pang. He'd cried like that in there before. For a moment he looked down at the plate contemplating his options. He placed it on the flat top of the banister. Potter would have one chance to tell the truth.

He unsealed the door and walked straight in. Harry shot off the bed. He hadn't expected Snape; it had only been half an hour, and now he was standing before him with a damp face, bloodshot eyes and runny nose: his face flushed with embarrassment. His mouth was drawn downwards in a pronounced frown and he twisted his hands behinds his back.

"Well, now that you have ended you tantrum," his voice heavy with distain, a cold look in his eyes, "perhaps you can find it in yourself to tell the truth."

"I am telling the truth," Harry said letting fresh drops of tears fall on to his cheeks while his stomach gave an audible gurgle. Snape looked at Harry's stomach, registering how hungry the boy must be: and how small he was. The scowl on Snape's face deepened and Harry looked down at his feet stepping back slightly.

"Look at me," Harry looked up and made eye contact with Snape. It appeared almost that Harry's eyes remained in the same place while his face shrank backwards; the look Snape was giving him was so intense. Snape turned and left the room before returning with lunch and some toilet paper. "Wipe your eyes, blow your nose and eat that."

Harry followed Snape's instructions to the letter, quickly devouring the sandwich and salad and drinking the water given. The whole meal calmed him, he suddenly felt as if he didn't have to worry, he could say anything and it would all be fine.

Snape looked at Harry once more and contemplated his questions. Was it important? Did it matter? Yes. It did matter to him. It mattered very much. If Potter were a congenital liar he could work to correct that and he would correct that. If he were telling the truth…well.

"Potter, how did the dessert end up on the floor of the kitchen?"

"Dobby the House Elf did it. He levitated it," said Harry automatically without a pause. He just stared up to Snape with his bright green eyes, the empty plate resting on his knees and for a moment and just a moment Snape saw Lily rather than James in the face before him. Harry had been telling the truth. "He said there was a plot."

Snape pursed his lips pulling his nostrils upwards as if there was a bad smell in the room. "What do you mean, Potter?" If he had not given the boy Veritaserum he would have felt sure that the golden boy was trying to instil some mystery and awe into his world.

"He just kept saying 'Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts'," Harry said imitating Dobby's shrill voice, "that there was a plot 'to make terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'. And then whenever he said anything else… anything he thought he shouldn't he … he hurt himself."

Harry then thought back to something that had been troubling him since he had met Dobby and received the letter from the ministry, in fact it had troubled him ever since the Dursleys had kept him prisoner: What if they wouldn't let him back in and, now that he was with Snape, what if he had to stay here forever. "Sir, can I go back to Hogwarts?"

"Well, the stunt you orchestrated with the Weasleys certainly means you're relatives won't be welcoming you back with open arms any time soon, however I am…satisfied you shall be returning to Hogwarts," Harry's face glowed while Snape glowered. "Until then you shall be staying here with me," he said it briskly; Harry's face glowed a little less.

"Can't I go to stay with Ron?"

"I'm sorry the accommodation doesn't reach famous Harry Potter's high standards and that you can't spend the summer causing trouble with your little friend," said Snape his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Don't think I want you here anymore than you want to be here." Snape looked smug, making Harry fell that the man would be taking any opportunity to make Harry miserable until and after the term had started.

"Well if you don't want me here why did you take me from the Dursleys?"

"Sometimes, and this is a lesson you will not yet appreciate, one has to do things what one doesn't want to," said Snape. "While you reside here, Potter, you will follow the rules which I lay out and unlike the rule at school I suggest that you do not break them. I am to be addressed as either Sir or Professor Snape or, if we are to enter a muggle area, Mr Snape. You are to study and complete you homework before the term begins. You are to do what you are told and to be obedient and treat both me and this house with respect." Snape looked around the room and to the case which still hadn't been unpacked. Just because Harry had been being honest did not mean that Snape had to be pleasant. He still didn't like him.

"Just to underlie the point here is a letter for you," said Snape withdrawing the letter from his pocket and handing it to Harry. Harry looked down at the front of the letter and opened it. It was written in the characteristic emerald green ink of the Hogwarts Headmaster and it contained his Hogwarts school list. Harry knew he would have to buy longer robes and new cloths, replenish his potions kit as well as the book list.

"Before buying them we will retrieve some money for the books from your relatives. I-"

"They don't pay for my books."

"What?"

"They don't pay for my books, sir," repeated Harry.

"I understood what you said, boy," snapped Snape. "You're twelve. You don't pay for your books"

"Yes I do. My Uncle says he won't pay for some 'crack pot old fool' to teach me magic so I pay, sir," said Harry earnestly. Snape looked down at his wrist watch. The Veritaserum would still be working.

Snape looked at Harry. Again, he didn't look pleased.

"You mean to tell me that you have been paying for your school equipment."

"Yes."

Snape flashed a furious look once more. "Are the Dursley's poor, Potter."

"No, sir. Uncle Vernon has a good job and Dudley goes to a private school. They just don't want to help me learn magic, they think it was unnatural."

The glass at the windows shook Snape's anger was so great. Muggles.

"Get dressed, Potter. We are going out. Meet me down stairs. You have five minutes"

Snape was furious. How dare they. How dare the muggles do that, say that. He may not like Potter but more and more he was seeing that Harry was not well treated at home. He still felt he was arrogant, insolent, disobedient and incredibly self centred but he did have some pity. Muggles just didn't understand wizards. They did not understand the magical world or the people within it.


	5. Chapter 5

When he came down stairs 10 minutes later Harry looked ever so slightly smarter

When he came down the stairs 10 minutes later, Harry looked ever so slightly smarter. Gone were his mismatched pyjamas and dirty grey jumper, and instead he was wearing large baggy jeans with a brown belt to keep them up and a light T-shirt in brown. Although both items were once Dudley's and were oversized, they were clean, an improvement on the last items he had worn. His socks were red and had holes in the toes, which thankfully couldn't be seen, and the brown shoes, though well worn, weren't broken. He had attacked his hair with a comb and the weight of the grease in it did make it lie flatter, maybe that was why Snape's hair was so straight, Harry thought. Harry had even washed his face, making a discernable effort to be presentable.

"Punctuality is important in this house, Potter," Snape said frowning. At least the boy looked more presentable, though his hair was a filthy mess. "We are going into the muggle town. I need to get some food. You are to stay with me at all times; you are not to leave my side at anytime. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry nodded silently. At least he wasn't under house arrest.

"I don't want you to talk to anyone out there and do not draw attention to yourself."

Harry looked at Snape quizzically. He was beginning to wonder whether when he returned to Hogwarts he would remember how to speak, if he was going to have to live in silence until the new term. "Why, sir?"

"If you cannot fathom why, you are more stupid than you appear," said Snape in annoyance. "You are to blend in as much as possible because, as the Dementor illustrates, you are in danger and it is my responsibility to keep you safe. I want my discharging of this duty to be as easy as possible and if the Dark Lord were to become aware of your existence here, due to a slip of the tongue on your behalf, it would become significantly more difficult. So, unless you want to be locked in doors for the next three weeks I would maintain absolute silence."

"Three weeks?" questioned Harry.

"Yes, three long weeks," said Snape darkly.

Snape unclasped the door and walked into the pleasant August sunlight. His sallow skin looked unnatural in the bright light of the street. Harry stepped out behind him looking up and down the street. It wasn't deserted. Down the road there were some teenagers standing around in the bus shelter shouting and pushing one another off of the path.

"They cannot see us," Snape said following Harry's gaze. "Muggles rarely see what's right in front of them, but aside from that the wards I have placed on the property disguise us. Come."

Striding forward Snape crossed the boundary between his lawn and the public street. However rather than walking straight at the pavement he turned at the last moment so that he sidestepped onto the flagstones, rather than entering straight on. Harry imitated this and continued to walk down the road, staying slightly behind Snape as they proceeded towards the gang of youths.

Even at this distance Harry could tell that the gang was rough. They reminded him of his cousin except older and bigger and nastier. He stepped nearer to Snape. They got closer and closer to the bus stop. Some of the boys turned to look at them, making rude gestures and swearing, directing their remarks at Harry, rather than Snape. Snape remained silent and glared at them and there abuse ceased. They looked down looking cowed. Harry wondered if it was magic or only that the boys found Snape just a scary as he did.

Snape stalked onwards.

"Have you always lived here, Professor?" asked Harry, having to skip slightly to keep up with him.

"Yes," said Snape, he did not want to have to talk about this with Potter. His private life was his own.

"Oh," Harry said, while they continued onwards. Harry looked around at the street, at the rubbish and graffiti and lastly back at the teenagers who were continuing to stare at him almost as if they were blaming him for Snape. "Has it always been like this?"

"No," answered Snape in a monosyllable, doing his best to extinguish the conversation. His characteristic frown was beginning to deepen as his annoyance increased.

"Oh," again they continued to walk further across the estate and around the corner, out of the eyesight of teens. "Sir, why is it like this?"

"Potter, I am not going to spend the rest of the day answering your inane questions. Yes I have always lived here and no it was not always like this. There was an intervening period between what it was and what it is now but I have no desire to go into the study of social disintegration with you," Snape said all of this in a low hiss. He grabbed onto Harry's shoulder and pushed him slightly in front of him. "Now walk on and do as you were told. Be. Silent."

Harry bit his tongue and looked down. He felt stung and he certainly felt stinging in the corners of his eyes as well as his shoulder where Snape had pushed him.

"Do not sulk," said Snape exasperatedly. Harry merely frowned even more. His lower lip stuck out and eyes filling slightly. Snape shoved him further forward making him begin to walk. His eyes were fixed on the back of Harry's head.

"How much further is the town?" Harry asked.

"Stop complaining and be silent," replied Snape angrily. If this was how Potter thought he was going to behave for the next three weeks he was sorely mistaken.

"I'm not complaining. I just want to know when we will be there. That's all," said Harry heatedly.

"Right, Potter, detention. I said I wouldn't stand for your cheek, your answering back or your disobedience and I am not," said Snape giving a snide smile.

"You can't give me detention. We're not at school," said Harry indignantly, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. It suddenly dawned on him that he was at Snape's mercy. He was trapped here with him and was now regretting he had angered him.

"Yes I can," Snape said in very low, threatening tones stepping close to Harry and looming over him. He had power over Potter. He could make him do whatever he wanted. He and his friend couldn't stop him. They couldn't get him any more. "Now get walking and shut up."

The high street was only in the next road. At the road's head there was a budget supermarket, aside from a betting shop and a pub there was very little else able to eek out a living in the area's poverty. They walked up the road to the supermarket and entered, Snape shoving two baskets to Harry, one for each of his arms, and shepherding him up and down the isles collecting bread, milk, pasta, fruit, vegetables, cereal, jam, beef, chicken… it went on and on. Harry was stooping towards the end of the hour the baskets, were overflowing and a pain was sinking down through his arms. Why couldn't Snape have just got a trolley? Wait…Snape couldn't get a trolley because that would make Harry's life easier and Snape did not want to make his life easier. Snape would want to make Harry's life as difficult as possible, especially now he was angry. Harry slumped down further.

As the hour stretch out and spilled over into a second one, Harry began to feel more despondent. He'd stopped paying attention to what was going in the baskets. It just seemed to be one heavy item after the other. Snape however was looking, and aside from various staples he also placed some chocolate and a very, very small cake.

They went over to the checkouts and began to transfer the groceries from the baskets to the conveyor belt. The cashier mutely scanned the items. Suddenly it dawned on Harry that he didn't know how Snape was going to pay for this. He hoped Snape didn't think he, Harry, had any muggle currency. From what he had learned from Ron, many wizards were largely ignorant of the muggle world with Hogwarts teaching Muggle Studies in the third year as a course option. Were they just going to grab the bags and run off with them?

The beeping of the scanner seemed to go on and on and Harry became more and more anxious. What was Snape going to do? Hand over a load of Galleons and demand change and hex the poor woman if she didn't do as she was told?

"Would you like any cash back?" asked the till woman looking up from her scanner. "Oh, hello Severus," she said in a shrill voice, rather like a violin played by a beginner with little talent, looking at Snape.

"Hello Clare," the movement was imperceptible but Snape definitely looked down at Clare's name tag, giving a shallow smile which did not spread through the whole of his face.

"I've not seen you since primary school, what have you been doing with yourself?" she chatted happily.

"I have been teaching," said Snape locking his eyes into hers.

"Ow that's nice. I never thought you'd be a teacher when we were at school…oh no not a teacher," her voice was gratingly shrill, "Oh and is this your son?"

"N-," began Harry

"Yes this is my son," said Snape. He almost looked as if he was in pain. The muscles in his face seemed to pull backwards as he said the words. Harry did not believe it, how DARE Snape pretend to be his father. How dare he!

"Ow, where's your name then," inquired the woman, fiddling with the till, removing two £20 notes from the till and handing them to Snape. The till also began to spew forth a receipt, although Clare had not pressed any buttons.

"Ha-," started Harry.

"He's called Harry," said Snape over Harry, again looking as if the sheer effort of saying Harry's name was painful. Snape took the receipt from the woman, ending the conversation and gathering up the shopping giving two bags to Harry and taking four, himself. "Goodbye Clare," he said giving her a small smile.

They exited the store.

"I thought I told you not to say anything. Should I be using smaller words for you to understand more easily," said Snape glaring down at Harry.

"She asked me a question. Or do you want people to think your son is so rude he doesn't speak when he is spoken to?" said Harry knowing he was on thin ice and was currently jumping up and down very hard.

"Careful, Potter," Snape growled.

"Don't you mean Harry, sir?" said Harry spitefully. He knew instantly that he had gone too far. Harry did not think he had ever seen Snape so angry.

Grabbing Harry firmly by the arm, Snape frog marched Harry all the way back to Spinner's End in absolute silence. They followed the same route that they had walked into the town. Walking past the bus stop, Harry saw some new graffiti daubed on the shelter's structure: 'Snape is a w' was the mark. Contemplating his day so far and Snape's treatment of him, Harry was inclined to agree.


	6. Chapter 6

"Get inside that house," said Snape though gritted teeth. They had crossed the threshold into the property in the same manner that they had gotten out of it. As Snape approached the door it swung itself backwards automatically, in expectation of the Professor's fury. He was apoplectic with rage, anger radiated off him in waves; you could almost feel it in the air. As they went into the house the panes of glass shook in their frames, loosening the dirt on the glass. Snape dragged Harry into the living room, snatching Harry's bags out of his arms and throwing them, along with his own, onto the chintz sofa.

"Potter, you are as conceited as you father, an attention seeking, impertinent, spoilt brat," scathed Snape.

"Don't you talk about my father," said Harry, his voice rising in volume and pitch, his hands bawling into fists.

"Your father," he persisted, "was just as arrogant as you are, and if you think for one moment that I would want you," Snape's voice dripped with distain, "as a son-"

"My father was a good man and if you think ANYONE would want you as a father-," said Harry, rage beginning to pump through his body, growing in intensity, making him feel as if the pressure building within him was going to break through at any moment

"Your father was a cruel, weak bully," said Snape in cruel spite.

At this, Harry lost it. He had no wand. He could do no magic. But he could hurt Snape. He could fight him tooth and nail, and that was just what he did. He surged forward at his professor, butting him in the stomach, winding him, and sinking his teeth into his arm, biting down so hard that he could taste Snape's hot blood in his mouth like he had sucked down on a penny. Snape gave a grunt of pain releasing Harry and moving away from him, giving a pant. Harry ran for it, slipping out of the room and towards the door.

On a broomstick Harry was swift and nimble: he was equally so on foot, in no small part due to years of informal training from being chased by Dudley and his gang. He dodged Snape's arm as he made a snatch at Harry, to keep him in the room and in the safety of the house, but like a racecourse hare fled round the corner out of the room, slamming it behind him to delay Snape. Harry grasped the handle of the front door, twisted it open and ran over the threshold, into the summer heat. In the same fashion as earlier, he left Snape's property and sped down the street heading right this time, away from the bus stop where he had seen the teenagers. At full pelt he ran, following the curve of the road at first and then through a warren of footpaths and side ways. He had a head start on Snape, and that was good, but he had heard Snape slamming the door in his haste, after him. He was faster and fitter than Snape, he knew it, and he could keep out of his reach long enough. He was not going to go back to Spinner's End. He was not.

A stiff tightness came to his chest. He quickly developed a stitch in his side forcing him to pull up from his run; he compelled himself to keep walking forward clutching at his side trying to massage the pain out of his body. Deep breaths wracked his chest. He was lost now but kept moving onwards, perpetually onwards, alone. After a time, he came to a park and he put himself mercifully down on the remaining rungs of a damaged bench, resting his chest forward to his knees opening his lungs and taking deep gasping mouthful after mouthful of the dry air, his back was dripping with sweat that ran around the nape of his neck and dripped down to the dusty earth in the oppressive heat. The tranquillity was only disturbed by the pounding of Harry's heart in his chest.

"Ay, oy!" a voice yelled. Harry almost jumped out of his skin at the brutal sound breaking the slumbering peace of the summer park. A short distance from him was advancing the group of teenagers that Snape had spurned earlier. They looked just as nasty as they had done earlier, and Harry was more than willing to judge by appearances and assume that this was not a superficial nastiness. The boy that had called out had crew cut hair and was swaggering forward, his gang supporting him in numbers. "Ay, oy you. What you want?"

Harry remained silent, standing up. No answer would get him out of this. Adrenaline began to flood his body. Should he run? Could he run? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of them, and one of him. Even with Dudley he hadn't faced such odds.

"Ay you, you deaf?" the boy asked, rhetorically. Again Harry didn't reply but kept silent, taking a step backward, hitting his calves against the wooden bench. At that he skipped behind its frame putting a barrier between himself and the gang. There was not time to flee now. He had no where to run to. He was lost and alone.

"Ay you. Not so big now you not got Daddy, are ya?" the boy shouted again. The gang were on top of him now, splitting into two factions encircling the bench. Harry felt the hard back of the bench pushing into the base of his spine. Crew-cut shoved him harder into the bench stepping forward so that he was only inches away from Harry. Harry could see a vain twitch in the boy's forehead. He had shiny eyes that glinted internally. "Ay," he gave a further shove. Sweat dripped from Harry, this time it was due to fear.

"What you need is to show respect," another shove, the bench was beginning to bruise Harry's back. The gang laughed sardonically. Looking at the boys Harry could see the weakest side was the left; the boy there looked smaller than the others. He had to do something. He ran hard at the gap however, though smaller, the boy was solidly built.

"No, you don't," said crew cut grasping Harry and swinging his fist forward into the side of Harry's head. Releasing him, he crashed his other fist up into Harry's solar plexus, squeezing the air out of Harry's lungs, forcing Harry to collapse onto the floor - wheezing. At that the gang set about Harry, landing boots into Harry's spine and torso, Harry's arms raised to protect his head from the volley of blows. He rolled himself beneath the bench escaping some of the onslaught, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching the sides of his head harder, pushing himself into the ground.

There was a blinding flash in the air, and a hand reached down and grabbed Harry dragging him to his feet before forcing him down onto the bench once more, looking Harry over. Harry had a cut on his right brow where the first blow had met his head and there were grazes on his cheek and exposed hands, he doubled over slightly in clear pain as he massaged his stomach and ribs, grimacing. Harry moved along the bench away from Snape, weeping brokenly. His body ached, he was filthy. Dirt had been rubbed into his cleanest clothes and he was truly miserable. He huddled into the corner of the bench screwing his eyes shut and drawing his knees up to his chest hiding his face.

"Potter," said Snape quietly. Harry ignored him sobbing onto his knees. "Potter." Snape said slightly louder this time. He extended his hand holding it just above Harry's shoulder as if uncertain of what to do. "Harry," said Snape bringing his hand down gently. This got Harry's attention. He turned his head sideways to look at Snape with his green eyes and saw Snape looking down at him with some care in his eyes. "Can you get up?"

"Yes," said Harry meekly, noting that Snape didn't correct him by asking him to say 'sir' or 'Professor'. Harry looked around himself. Lying around the bench were the teens, hexed to the ground, crew cut released a deep grown. He stood along with Snape, who removed his hand awkwardly from Harry's shoulder. On their first step though he grasped back hold of Harry, who had sucked the air hard through his teeth.

"Are you alright?" asked Snape casting a careful eye over Harry. He had received a kicking.

"Yes," said Harry, heaving a breath down into his lungs, shaking. Snape did not remove his hand but linked it round Harry's back and supported him under his armpit. Snape walked Harry back for the second time that day: back to Spinner's End, where they returned once more to the house's living room and back to the chintz sofa. Harry was beginning to dislike the sofa, which still had the shopping strewn across it. He sat there and waited as Snape left the room, returning with a length of black leather folded into a large padded rectangle and bound closed with a thin thong. It gave off a distinct smell or earth that put Harry in mind of herbology. Snape undid the binding and unfolded the leather packet. Within it there were a number of vials of various potions and lotions in multiple colours.

"This will sting," warned Snape removing a violently blue bottle of viscous liquid from where it was held in place. He poured some out onto his palm and rubbed it across his two hands, warming it, before applying it to the cuts and grazes on Harry's face. Snape had not been lying, it did sting but when Snape removed his hand from Harry's face and Harry placed his own hand to where the cuts had been, he could feel it was healed. Snape applied the substance to his hands.

"Take your top off and turn your back to me," instructed Snape. Harry did what he was told and felt Snape apply the blue liquid to his back. He felt his painful bruises ease.

"Do you still hurt?" asked Snape clinically.

"No, sir," lied Harry, still not turning around to look at the Professor. He opened his mouth and closed it again like a landed fish. He finally opened his mouth to speak, "Thank you, sir, and… I… I am sorry, sir."

There was a pause. "What are you sorry for?"

Harry swallowed. "I am sorry for biting you and running away,"

There was another pause. "And?"

Harry ran through a mental list. Apologised for the biting, running… shouting maybe? "Err…shouting sir?" Snape did not look pleased. Okay, not fighting. He had got into a fight, he hadn't started it but… "Err…fighting sir." This elicited a response.

"You weren't fighting, you were beaten," said Snape angrily.

"…err…ignoring you."

"Stop thinking with your mouth: give your brain a chance to function," said Snape waspishly. "Why would you think I, your guardian for the next three weeks and the one ultimately responsible for your safety, would currently be less than pleased?"

There was a pause on Harry's side of the conversation. "Because I could have hurt myself?" ventured Harry.

"You could have been killed," said Snape his temper flaring, "Your Mother died for you and you were willing to risk it because you couldn't control yourself."

"I-"

"Silence," said Snape calming himself down, suddenly realising how scared he had been when he had heard Harry's cries and seen him being hit. He looked at Harry's back again, frowning deeply. "Potter. Go upstairs and have a bath. Here, take this," Snape handed him a second vile from his set, this time in a sickly yellow. "Empty it into the water while you are drawing your bath. Wash your hair."

Harry got up and went to the door.

"And Potter," Harry turned at the voice, "I too apologise."

Review – you know you want to it makes me feel good and you KNOW it will make you feel good.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry went up to the bathroom entered the room and locked the door

Harry went up to the bathroom, entered the room and locked the door behind him. Turning to the bath he twisted the taps half on and rinsed the tub with the water to remove a layer of dirt and dust before turning them on fully, inserting the plug and pouring the vial of yellow potions into the flow of the hot tap. As the bath filled a pungent hot vapour came off the cloudy water, loosening the dirt from the bathroom's small window causing it to run off the panes. As the water increased Harry pushed his back against the door, and cried. He hadn't cried in such a long time, even after the attack by Voldemort or how he'd been treated by his relatives, and yet he found this was the third time in a day he had been in tears: first in sadness, then in anger and now in shame. Snape had been so angry and was right. He had not thought. He hadn't cared.

When the bath was full he stripped off his clothes and lowered himself into the scented water, splashing it onto his tear streaked face. The water made his skin feel as if he were humming all over his body. Looking at the surface of the water it rippled with minute vibrations. Turning round in the bath he tried to see if there was any shampoo …there wasn't. He took a gulp of air and sank beneath the surface. As the water touched his hair the humming sensation increased. It suddenly occurred to Harry that the yellow, perfumed potion, although unappealing in colour, was an industrial strength cleaner.

He stayed in the water until his fingers resembled prunes and the water became tepid and black.

* * *

The following morning Harry awoke at eight feeling well rested. He leant over the side of the bed and fumbled about on the floor for where he had laid his glasses before he went to sleep. He rubbed them clean on his pyjama sleeve before putting them on his nose and looking round the room. No he had not been dreaming he really was at Spinner's End.

Harry walked with cat like tread to the door and left his room. Reaching the stairs he inhaled the aromas of frying bacon rising from the kitchen. He bit down on his lower lip, descending the stairs and walking down the short corridor to the source of the smell. Standing in the doorway he looked at Snape's back. Snape stood at the oven, frying pan in hand dressed in his full wizarding robes, black, just as at school. On the work surface to the side of the hob laid two plates with a pair of thick slices of bread on each.

"Potter, either come into the room or stay out of the room. Don't stand in between," said Snape, making Harry jump. How could Snape know where he was without even looking around? Harry stepped into the room trying to glimpse any reflective surfaces which Snape might have looked into, "Sit at the table, I'm almost finished."

Snape placed before Harry a huge bacon sandwich along with a glass of milk before sitting down himself at the dining table opposite Harry. They ate their meal in silence.

"We are going to Diagon Alley this morning. You need to buy your school things and some other items and I also have some shopping to do. As you have been luxuriating in bed, we will not be able to get there as early as I would have liked," Snape paused to scowl, "Now that you have finally emerged and eaten, get dressed as quickly as you can," Harry rose and began to leave, "and Potter…do try to tidy your hair." He may not BE him but there was no need for him to look like him.

Harry left the room and dressed. He decided to wear his school trousers and a shirt, he didn't really think anything of Dudley's would be suitable; he didn't really want to be seen in anything of Dudley's when in the wizarding world. He didn't do his hair.

When he went down the stairs he found Snape in the living room stoking a newly lit fire with the tip of his wand.

"Have you Flooed before, Potter?" asked Snape glancing at Harry focusing particularly of his hair.

"What's Flooing sir?" was Harry's response.

Snape groaned inwardly: a novice. No, novice suggested some element of knowledge or understanding. A layperson, a person whose knowledge was completely none existent, that was a better description of Potter. In an exasperated tone he began, "Flooing is a medium of transport. We shall be Flooing from here to Diagon Alley, emerging in The Leaky Cauldron fireplace."

"Sir, why can't we fly?" said Harry.

"Do not interrupt me, Potter," said Snape pointedly. "I should have thought it was obvious, if you had any common sense. For one, we are not invisible and it is not night. We would be seen. Also it is a long flight, even on a broom such as your Nimbus, and we would not reach Diagon Ally by nightfall. I do not have a particular wish to take a room when we get there. By Floo, we will be there almost instantaneous."

"Oh," said Harry. How was he meant to know what Flooing was or the difficulties with travelling? He didn't even know where Spinner's End was.

"All you have to do is throw this into the flames," said Snape lifting a large handful of the grey powder from the metal bowl that hung by the fire, running it through his fingers back to where he had taken it from. "step into the fire," at this he saw Harry's eyes dilate, "and say the name of your destination, which in your case shall be?"

"Diagon Alley?"

"Correct."

Harry approached the fireside with a sense of trepidation, rather like that he had felt when he had first crossed to platform 9 3/4, and tentatively placed his hand in the bowl taking a little of the powder.

"Take more." Obediently he took a greater handful. Standing on the edge of the fire, feeling the heat burning through the grey flannel of his trousers, he threw it into the fire sending green flames licking up the chimney. Stealing his courage he stepped into the hearth, instantly feeling himself engulfed by a pleasantly warm sensation. He opened his mouth: instantly he began to choke on soot, which seemed to force itself into him, making him gag as he drew oxygen into his lungs. Coughing, he choked out a short, "Diagon Alley."

The last thing Harry heard before he disappeared from the fireplace was Snape, his eyes opened wide, saying, "Oh God…"

* * *

So aside from Harry's other major flaws, his existence being one of the main ones and his being what seemed to be a permanent thorn in Snape's backside, he couldn't speak. Snape grasped a handful of the powder and threw it into the fire which was still tinted faintly green from Harry's foray into the fire. The intensity of the colour deepened as Snape stepped in and pronounced perfectly clearly, "Diagon Alley."

Stepping out into the Leaky Cauldron, Snape ignored Tom the inn keeper's greetings and swooped out of the building, his robes billowing out behind him. Where was he? Where was he? He couldn't have gone more than a couple of grates too far. It was the second time in as many days that Snape had lost Harry both of which where in some part due to him, the former due to his temper and the latter due to his negligence. He was going to kill him.

Snape began searching the street going up to Gringotts first (the boy must have had to get money) and then working his way back down, checking what he assumed would be Harry's haunts: Quality Quidditching Supplies (Potter had a broom), Eeylops Owl Emporium (he had an owl), Florish and Blott's (I did tell him we would be getting school equipment).

He searched to no avail. Again he felt an unfamiliar sensation: panic. His heart was palpitating; he was sweating; he was feeling more and more agitated. His usually calm demeanor was transforming into one of fitfulness.

He reached the base of Diagon Alley, where it met the neck of its darker counterpart.

* * *

Harry fell forward onto the slate in front of the fire, his hands jarred against the mottled and unfinished stone, he heard his glasses crack; his eyes watered. He sat up and took his glasses off of his nose to inspect them. The left lens looked as though a spider had drawn a web across it. Even though the glass was shattered it still hung in the frame. The right lens looked solid enough though the metal on the bridge of the nose was twisted outward making the frame hang lopsidedly. Hermione could have fixed it, thought Harry sadly.

He stood and gazed around the shop. It was then that he noticed the smell for the first time. A light mustard scent lay in the air and what seemed to be a charcoal haze, almost like the vapors which came off the pungent liquids they concocted in Potions lessons, fogged the air, giving it an opalescent quality. It seemed to be coming off an open bowl which on closer inspection Harry saw to be empty.

Gazing round the room the decoration was dominated by opulent black velvet. The items on sale were priceless in both senses to the word, Harry assumed this namely because they did not appear to have any price tags on them and therefore guessed at their rarity. Looking around he also instinctually felt they must be dark. Reflecting on what Snape had told him yesterday, of the dangers facing him, he decided to make a speedy exit despite his curiosity. However, he was waylaid.

A tall glass that was on a wall was not as it should have been. Where as normally such display cases lay plush onto the wall, this one was swung forward revealing a dark passageway. Harry glanced to the entrance of the shop. The sign signaling the opening hours of the store was swung round indicating to the street beyond that the shop was closed for official business. Reading the golden lettering on the windows backwards Harry made out Knockturn Alley. Once more Harry noted he was lost and trapped; the door was barred and had a large lock on it. Walking over to it he tested its seal. It tingled menacingly beneath his fingers. The tighter he gripped the greater the intensity. He quickly released it thinking as he did so that he doubted even the Alohomora spell would open it, even if he had his wand.

He felt blood pump in his ears but over the sound of his heart, over the sound of his own fear, he could here voices. The voices were low and were at a distance. He couldn't distinguish what they were saying exactly but he knew now that he was certain he could not escape, he had no real options. He would be found if he waited here, soon enough, so he advanced towards the passageway and entered.

The height of the passageway was sufficient enough so that even a fully grown man could stand up right within the tunnel, though they would have had to bend double to pass into the tunnel's entrance: Harry just bobbed his head. Following the tunnel was simple; after a sharp turn to the left, it was only one long line following the structure of the building. It ended in a doorway, which lay open. The dimensions of the hidden corridor, for that was its closest likeness in a regular building, seemed to be manipulated by magic: as Harry looked down its length it narrowed to a pinprick but as he approached the door it widened in scale. Looking behind him he saw the same effect. Upon reaching the door Harry pressed himself into the recesses of the frame seemingly disappearing and thankful for once for his small size.

"He no longer is there," a gravelly voice intimated. "He has been removed or, as we should hope, has removed himself. With any luck he is still in the Little Whinging area and is merely hiding himself." Harry suddenly realized that they were talking about him.

A second, impatient voice cut across the first. "We have been searching the area. The Dementor dispatched mentioned a wizard there. It said it was repelled…by a Patronus. NO… it is a waste of time to continue scouring the area for him. There was a wizard there and that wizard has taken him. Potter is not capable of such magic. No- we have lost a great opportunity. Come the new term he will be out of our reach for another year, another year he will not be sacrificed for the Dark Lord."

Harry inhaled sharply. The voices paused. Harry began to feel the thumping of his heart would draw them towards him, it was beating so intensely. The voices restarted but Harry ceased to listen. His ears seemed to have stopped working. Slowly he backed down the passageway, again bowing downwards at the entrance and slipping out of the hole. The front door was still barred to him so he turned his attention to the back of the shop. There must be another exit that was not blocked to him.

* * *

I'd just like to say thank you for all the wonderful, wonderful, wonderful reviews and encourage you to keep them coming.

However I would also like to offer an early apology as due to my starting university in just under a weeks time and I will therefore be very busy due to registration and very serious things (and possibly industrial level of drinking … I believe there is a toga party at some point……..) So, I want to assure you I will be attempting it continuing it but my updates may be less frequent, though that is not to say that there will not be another update this week only that after that…


	8. Chapter 8

Harry slipped past the blackened wood counter on which an antique metal till rested. One side of the counter was attached at right angles to the wall opposite the door, it bent round in a curve so that the main bench of the counter was parallel to the double glass windows giving the cashier a full view of the street beyond when he was at his post (Harry could see the street was very busy). He reached out to the door behind the till, wishing, praying it would open. He grasped it in his hand and paused, feeling no resistance or the vibrations such as he had felt on the front door. Painfully slowly he twisted it, hoping it had been oiled recently. The only noise it gave off was a quiet click. It swung into the backroom and Harry entered.

The front of the shop had had a quiet dignity. The aura of power which seemed to surround the merchandise on display was added to by the rich and decadent dressing of plush velvet to which they were set. This setting did not extend to the back of the shop. There were no lights on in the backroom so Harry had to rely on the illumination provided from the sunlight flooding through the front windows and coming through the newly opened door. It allowed him to see that the shallow room was unkempt and dusty. Crates were crammed into it in a higgledy-piggledy fashion; it appeared to house only excess stock, the sheer volume of which meant Harry traversed the room with much difficulty. Though the majority of the stock lined the four sides of the room in a disordered fashion a large amount crowded the centre of the room reaching almost to the ceiling meaning anyone entering it could cross it either by going left or right in a circle around them. Following around to the right of the narrow pathway, Harry found a rickety staircase at the back of the room leading, presumably, to a second storey. Harry rejected this instantly, should he ascend he would merely be trapped on a second storey making it twice as difficult to escape.

It became abundantly clear to Harry that there was no second door for him to leave by; it was the front door or nothing. He cursed Snape for taking his wand away but closed his eyes and thought of what he could do. Gryffindors were famous for their courage and bravery and that was what Harry needed now. He couldn't breach the door and he had no alternative exit. He could not do magic and he was in a room crammed with dangerous, deadly enchanted items. He was caught in a building with men that wanted him dead.

Opening his eyes, Harry looked closely at the crates. Suddenly it dawned on him that he was surrounded by tools he could use. Each crate had a row of nails securing the lid to the sides of the box. Harry tested them but they wouldn't move. However, some of them were open. When new stock had been put out, staff had clearly removed them and just left the boxes lying open: unsealed. Harry plunged his hand into one of these opened crates finding nothing within but straw padding. He moved onto the next one and tried again, but the second crate was also devoid of any meaningful contents. The third, however, did yield some objects as did the forth. The fifth was empty. Harry glanced at the door and turned away from the open boxes and instead laid the items he had found out on the floor before him. Each had a tiny tag tied onto various parts of them with effeminate handwriting scribed onto them.

Closely he examined the objects while keeping a surreptitious eye on the door: they must be coming out soon. The first of the five items was a piece of jet stone shaped into the head of a morning star the tag of which named it as the Stone of Alfatiers with the power to absorb and release elements (fire, water, air…) on command; the second was a stiletto knife whose tag declared any wound made by it would not heal; the third, a Death Mask, had the ability to hold the wearer in a state resembling death, with resurrection only taking place when removed; the fourth was a small hammer whose tag established its ability to smash any casement (this Harry pocketed); the fifth and final object, a small enamel cased book, the title of which was written in and illegible script, was identified by the tag as containing rare spells with unpleasant effects. The objects all had one thing in common, the reverse of the tags were signed with the looped signature of the owner, L. Malfoy.

A noise from the front of the shop removed Harry from his revive. He could hear the voices again, the voices from the hidden room and they were getting closer. Harry quickly leapt back around the stack of boxes and pushed the door to the front of shop closed. The conversation grew gradually louder though this time was far more congenial.

"I hope your children are well."

"Business is good?"

"How are you finding the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

"Those items you took care off for me…"

"That glove I asked for, did it arrive?"

"Oh yes," said a smarmy voice loudly, "in fact should you want to take it with you I can retrieve it from the storeroom."

This made Harry think fast. Not the stairs, was his immediate instinct. So, leaving his post at the door he went back to the opened crates in the darkness, flung the items he had removed from the boxes back into the cases before jumping in himself, dragging one of the rough lids back across, leaving a narrow opening for him to see through and to breathe.

Again the light front the shop front entered the room, illuminating the narrow section of wall that fell into Harry's restricted view. There was a regular thump of footsteps which entered the room and circled around to Harry's box. Wide eyed, Harry looked out at the figure. He could only see the back of his head which rested on the top of a tailored set of brown robes. His hair was grey, slicked back and tucked into the collar of his shirt. The man had his wand out and ran it along the top of the crate causing the nails to lift out of the wood and deposit themselves onto the centre of the lid. Pushing the lid aside, the man sank his arms into the box and lifted out a black, leather bejewelled glove with fragments of straw tumbling off of it onto the floor. He looked at the tag before removing any trace of dirt and turning around. Harry now got a look at the man's face. He was old and his blue eyes were close together over a piggy nose. His lips were nonexistent and his wide mouth rested on top of a cleanly shave chin.

Shop Man, as Harry christened him, looked directly at Harry's crate. Harry held his breath. The man came closer, extending a veined and liver spotted hand to the box. He grasped the lid. Harry closed his eyes and braced his hands on the side of the box willing himself not to move, not to make a sound. Shop Man dragged the lid to Harry's box closed meaning Harry was plunged into total darkness once more. The receding steps were accompanied by the slight click of the door.

For several moments Harry remained where he was, listening intently, re-evaluated his situation. He was now stuck in a crate, in a closed shop with no idea of the time, surrounded by dark objects and men who wanted to kill him and was utterly alone. He decided to wait. His courage was altered and he resolved to use his cunning and resourcefulness instead, the Sorting Hat had said it, he would have done well in Slytherin.

Harry did not know how long he had been in the crate when he heard the first tinkle of the shop bell as the visitors exited, signalling the reopening of the shop. That gave him hope, the door was open an escape route was made. He would just have to bide his time and wait. He shifted his weight and grasped the little hammer in his pocket. Nothing disturbed the silence of Harry's hiding place for what felt like hours until again there was a jingling tinkle of the bell, confirming Harry's belief the shop was open (though not overly popular).

Pushing the lid upwards, Harry began to slide it off of the opening to the crate. Standing, he silently got out of the box and took off his shoes to dampen the sound of his footsteps. His toe poked out of his left sock. There was another tinkle from the shop's bell. Harry went to the closed door and knelt to the key hole. He could see the back of the desk and the back of Shop Man. He would have to wait longer. He would have to wait until Shop Man moved away from the counter (when he would run for it) or when he came into the back room (when he would have to hide behind the door and then run). He would have to be quick, either way.

The bell tinkled again and shop man moved from his most but still Harry stayed put, resting his hand on the handle of the door listening to the pat of Shop Man's footsteps. Harry heard the beginning of sycophantic schmooze begin to spill from Shop Man's mouth.

"Wait for it," whispered Harry, "Wait for it."

Harry twisted the handle and drew it backwards on its silent hinges. Again only a tiny click escaped from the lock but this went unheard, having fallen into the patter of the conversation that Shop Man and the customer were deeply into. They were examining a cabinet on the side of the room. Silently, Harry circled the counter and walked along the side of the room at the furthest distance form the backs of the two men. He continued to move towards the door as quickly as he could.

"HEY,"

Harry ran, slamming himself into a display case causing it to fall and crack, spilling its contents on the floor. A thick black cloud flumed outwards from the smashed contents of the case emitting a cloud of bats that rose and flapped into the air swarming Harry's pursuers. Removing the little hammer, Harry thrust it at the door causing it to splinter forward into the street. Shooting a glance over his shoulder as he pelted down the road he saw Shop Man hanging in its frame, his wand drawn. Harry dodged between the numerous frequenters of Knockturn Alley. He did not stop even when he reached Diagon Alley.

Wheezing, Harry flew into the Leaky Cauldron. The patrons turned to look at him. The one who turned the fastest was Snape.

There was absolute silence. Snape looked gaunt. He walked towards Harry and glared at the rest of the room who suddenly seemed to become very interested in their drinks and evening meals.

"Tom," said Snape, never taking his eyes off of Harry "do you have a spare room?"

"Yes."

"I should like to take it," said Snape. They followed Tom upstairs in silence. Snape eyed Harry very carefully. Harry looked a mess. Snape took in his broken glasses and grazes. He was filthy from Flooing and there was what appeared to be straw woven into Harry's mop of hair. They were shown into a room which had two beds separated by a night stand. Snape thanked Tom, paying him.

"Now tell me what happened," Snape said as the door clicked shut. Snape pointed his wand at Harry, who was sitting on the end of the bed, and uttered, "Oculus Reparo"

Harry started at the very beginning and regaled Snape with his afternoon's adventure, for by looking at the clock Harry realised he had been stuck there for over four hours.

"…and the items were Malfoy's. L. Malfoy's.," finished Harry removing the little hammer and putting it on the bed for Snape to see.

Snape, reflected on Harry's story looking at him. Had Snape not heard Harry's honesty first hand he would have put this tale down to Harry's fancifulness and self-aggrandizement, but no. The scared boy before him was telling the truth. "Do you feel alright now, Potter?"

"No. I didn't have a wand!" said Harry angrily rising to his feet shaking. Snape pushed him back down again. "I couldn't do anything."

"If you had had a wand you wouldn't have known any spells to use. You are a mediocre student. Had you had a wand you would have not been able to do anything different," retorted Snape.

"I WANT MY WAND BACK," shouted Harry.

Snape looked down coolly. "Do not. Shout. Potter." Again there was a tense silence as Snape evaluated Harry. Carefully he removed Harry's wand. He twirled it briefly in his fingers. "I will give you your wand, Potter, on the condition that you allow me to teach you to use it."

Harry looked at Snape, "Alright."

Snape handed over the wand. Harry held it in his hand thinking about what he had agreed to. He didn't like Snape teaching him at school and now he'd agreed to have him teaching him in Snape's home.

"You've got to tell the Ministry about Malfoy, sir."

"No," said Snape.

"But why?"

"Malfoy," Snape said in a measured tone, "is very powerful in the ministry. Any accusation would be rebuffed. The government is not keen to open old sores."

"But that's not fair."

"Sometimes things aren't."


	9. Chapter 9

That night Harry lay in an undisturbed sleep. Snape did not. He did not sleep at all but remained seated, fully dressed at the foot of his bed with his eyes fixed, unblinking on the door. His wand was held in his hand and grasped so tightly that his knuckles stood out against the sallow skin that surrounded them. Each noise from behind the door, each hoot from an owl or mew from a cat from the street below was magnified. The wardrobe was a black hole in the wall, the mirror a night time lake. The dark feeling of foreboding stayed with Snape all night but despite the anticipation nothing came. No one came to the door. No masked intruders attempted to attack Lily's son, but still Snape stayed on guard.

There was no disturbance from Harry, only light regular breathing. Snape thought darkly, even Potter was innocent when he dreamt.

It was not until five o'clock that Snape found some relief from his midnight vigil. The curtains were back lit by the early summer sun and there was a sea change in the room's atmosphere. The furniture was no longer threatening but homely, the noises from the inn comforting. Snape loosened his grip on his wand but maintained his post. It was only when the businesslike noises from the pub had reached a noticeable level and the slamming of doors suggested other guests had woken that he got up and readied himself for the day. They still had shopping to do.

"Potter," said Snape. There was no reaction. Again, slightly more forcefully Snape said, "Potter!"

"Wuzzit," groaned Harry rolling over in bed.

"Potter, get up," said Snape threatening.

"Err…" Harry buried his head under the blankets.

"Now!"

Harry pushed himself up from under the covers and looked at Snape, "What time is it?"

"It is eight o'clock and you have had more than enough sleep."

"No I haven't," moaned Harry.

"Yes you have," said Snape, but his harsh, snide tone was absent being replaced by a lighter tone. "Get up and get dressed. I'm going to settle the bill and order breakfast. The shops will be open soon and I want to get his over with as quickly as possible."

"Can I have bacon?"

"You'll have what you are given," said Snape leaving the room with his face turned away from Potter a hidden smile on his lips, though Harry caught a glimpse of it in the mirror

After breakfast Harry and Snape broke out of the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley. They spent the morning walking up and down the street frequenting the necessary shops for Harry's school list and some new clothes, wizarding and muggle. Snape paid. They spent an age in the Apothecary not only to replenish Harry's potion's kit, which Snape did not fail to criticise, but also for Snape to buy things. Harry asked if he could go outside to wait but was told no, so he had to endure the sulphurous smell of the shop while Snape examined the quality of the different ingredients in minute detail. The Professor purchased a variety of disgusting items (no doubt students were unable to prepare them) including regurgitated cat hair pelts, dung beetle casings and yeti nails. Harry was especially curious about the unicorn horn but Snape pulled him away as he extended his hand to touch.

"Can we go in?" asked Harry as they approached Quality Quidditching Supplies weighed down by the smelly shopping. Snape looked at him, so tempted to deny Jam- Harry this pleasure. So like his father. He merely held the door open for Harry to walk through. Snape scanned the street behind him for all too familiar faces before entering himself. Still no one.

Harry ogled all of the displays. He gazed at the Nimbus 2001 (though more than satisfied with his Nimbus 2000, of course). He examined the cases of Quidditch balls and repair kits and broom accessories and books (fiction and non-fiction). He was totally absorbed in the league rankings trying to commit all the positions to memory to rival Ron's knowledge. Snape continued to look at the other customers but also looked at the shelves. They spent a comparable amount of time in Quality Quidditching Supplies as they had done in the Apothecary.

"Potter, were leaving," said Snape in impatient undertones for the third time. He was holding a additional bag in his hand. Reluctantly Harry turned from the door. He had little gold on him and there was nothing he could readily afford.

"Can we go to Gringott's, sir?" inquired Harry. He knew he would have to pay Snape and probably, he reflected sardonically, with interest. He might be able to come back to Quality Quidditching Supplies later.

"No. Its time to go home," said Snape.

"But I have to pay you back."

"You're not paying for your school things. Did I not say that?"

"Yes sir."

* * *

That evening they took the Knight Bus home. Snape was slightly resentful of this, mainly because he suffered from travel sickness and had not had the opportunity to take his potion to correct this. Harry loved it. When they finally re entered Spinner's End it was late afternoon and Snape was a mild Slytherine green.

"Go and put you things away," said Snape before locking the door and going to the kitchen to prepare supper. Snape took a knife out of a draw and chopped an onion on the work surface before depositing them into a frying pan. They sizzled in the hot oil. Snape added some bacon to the pan which spat in the oil.

"Hello, sir," Harry said entering the kitchen twenty minutes later, enticed down the stairs by the warm smell of food. He was still dressed in his two day old shirt. It was not looking its best.

"Hmm…," said Snape over his shoulder. Harry stood behind him awkwardly holding his arm to himself unsure of what he was meant to do. Snape had said he was spoilt, he wasn't. It wasn't fair. He did not want Snape to think he was spoilt.

"Sir, is there anything I can do?"

"No," said Snape shortly, though he reconsidered. "If you feel you have to do something… Lay the table."

Harry looked around the dark kitchen. "Where is the cutlery?"

"In there," said Snape indicating a lower draw not looking at Harry.

Harry removed two knives and forks placing them on the table opposite each other while Snape plated up the food.

"Sit down," said Snape as he put a plate in front of Harry. They ate in silence for a time. "Tomorrow I shall begin instructing you on how to use a wand. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"Speak when you are spoken to."

"Yes sir," said Harry despondently, nothing seemed to have changed. Harry finished his meal, which had been surprisingly tasty. He tapped his hands on the table top, yawning slightly.

"Cover your mouth when you yawn. Do you have no manners?"

"Yes, sir."

"What, yes you have no manners or yes you have manners?"

"No, sir. I do have manners."

"Then please will you show it." This really was not fair. Why did Snape focus on the miniscule things like his yawn but not his laying the table? Snape stood up.

"May I leave the table, sir?"

"Hmm…" said Snape, Potter seemed to be picking up. Snape glanced down at his watch: it was only six o'clock. He would have to do something with Potter. "Do you have anything to read?"

"Err, what do you mean sir?"

"Books, Potter."

"Yes I know you mean books, but read for fun or read for school."

"Read to relax, Potter."

"No sir."

"You mean that you have nothing to read."

"No sir,"

"Are you an absolute cretin or just devoid of any drive to explore intellectually," said Snape smiling.

"Well actually, my cousin doesn't like reading so I don't have any books," said Harry petulantly.

"You mean to say you have no books of your own?"

Harry didn't reply but merely looked down.

"Well… I suppose I can find you a book you can read. Bed in an hour."

"At seven," Harry said incredulously. A look from Snape made him repeat, "at seven," though in a far more positive, definite tone. Snape left the room. In his absence Harry used his initiative and began to wash up, finding soap and a tea towel for the purpose in the cupboard below the sink. Finishing, Harry went to the living room where he found Snape already seated in the armchair. He had two books resting on his lap.

"Here," said Snape extending one of the books to Harry. Harry took it in his hand before walking back to the sofa. He examined the cover of the book he had been given. Oversized and bound in ribbed maroon leather a moving picture of a broom, which Harry noted to be a Nimbus 2001, dominated the front cover of the shiny new book. The Nimbus had Quidditch balls circling it: the two iron Bludgers, the red Quaffle and the Golden Snitch. The pressed white sheets of paper were pristine. Harry gazed at the title: it was Quidditch Through The Ages.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry staring wide eyed at the pages as he flicked them over and over and over, smiling in pleasure before starting at the beginning of the book and embarking on his first full reading of the text in those three weeks.

"It is seven Potter," said Snape looking down at his watch.

"One more chapter," implored Harry, scanning his eyes over Quidditich tactics, trying to imagine how he would do a Woollongong Shimmy the next time he was on the pitch.

"No Potter. Bed," said Snape firmly. Harry gave him back the book. "No Potter that is for you to keep.

The following day magic lessons started in Spinner's End.

"Today I shall be teaching you a defensive spell and an offensive spell. We shall be taking turns." Harry gulped. He didn't think that he really liked the sound of Snape coming at him with a wand. Ron had already said that it was the dark arts job that Snape was really after, so Harry knew he was in knowledgeable company. He dreaded to think what Ron would say when Harry told him about this. "The spells are Protego and the Furnunculus Curse. Can you tell be what they are?"

"No, sir"

Falling into old habits, Snape said exasperatedly, "I thought not. Protego is a shielding charm, the beginning of a series of protection charms each of which grows in strength. This particular one will, when cast correctly, repel minor hexes and curses onto the castor. The second, the Furnunculus Curse, causes boils to the skin. It is relatively weak in the great scheme of Hexes but is suitable for testing your Shielding abilities. I shall be cursing first and you shall be shielding."

"What if I can't do the spell?"

"Then you will get boils," the look on Harry's face made Snape say, "Do not worry, Potter, they are easily healed. Now raise you wand. Protego is cast by raising the wand above the head," Snape demonstrated, "and as you draw it down you say Protego."

"Prot – a – go," said Harry.

"No. Pro-TAY-goh," corrected Snape demonstrating the spell causing a white-blue light to discharge from the tip of his wand making an oval screen hang in the air between the two of them. "Now it is you turn."

Harry took up his wand and imitated Snape. It was a poor imitation. Nothing happened.

"You are saying it wrong. It is AY as in pay not A as in apple. Do it again."

Harry did it again but still nothing happened.

"Better. But the movement is wrong. Your arm must be higher. Again."

Harry made a third attempt. Nothing.

"No. Focus. Again"

"I can't do it," said Harry dropping his wand. Snape lifted his.

"Furnuncular," there was a flash of yellow light and Harry felt a sharp sting on his arm, "Never. Drop your wand," said Snape, he was livid. Harry grasped his forearm feeling a blister lifting up beneath his fingers. As he gripped down he could feel the liquid run about inside the callous. Snape calmed himself and grabbed Harry's arm.

"Episkey," said Snape. Harry felt the boil burn hot and then cold, before it receded below the skin leaving no visible mark. In a softer voice he said, "If I didn't think you could do it I wouldn't be asking you to try. Again."

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the incantation and the movements. He opened his eyes and stared in a clear detached manner at Snape. He raised his wand.

"Protego," said Harry. Out of Harry's wand shot a dim white and blue shield. It was not as bright or distinct as Snape's and it left his shins and head unprotected, but it was there.

"Much better," said Snape in a voice which sounded distinctly like Hermione when she was telling you she had been right all along. "Now do that again when I attempt to Hex you."

This time Harry's shield was perfect.

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Author's Note:

I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and story alerted. You are all really wonderful motivators. I will endeavor to continue (I have 6 essays in 6 weeks about which I don't know anything (YET))


	10. Chapter 10

I have survived the Michaelmas term of university so am now (FINALLY) able to update. I will try to create a backlog of chapters so I can update at steady intervals during Epiphany. The story shall be completed (eventually).

For unintentional homonyms in this chapter, I apologise. I am aware that has been a major criticism and I will endeavour to spot them and correct them, though I am sure some will slip through the net. Unfortunately I do not own Word 2007 and therefore have no semantic checks. Please be forgiving.

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The improvement in Harry's and Snape's relationship did not extend into the following day. The extra tuition had led to Harry gaining some advanced practical skills, which he thought could be used to his advantage next term (should the situation arise of course) against Malfoy Jr. or Malfoy Sr. if a new plot should form. Harry contemplated that he could teach Ron the Furnunculus Curse at some point giving them both a slight advantage against the Slytherine trio. He did appreciate his new skills, though he doubted Snape would support his application of them. Snape had taken pleasure in playing the Defense of the Dark Arts teacher for the afternoon and seeing the improvement in Harry's skills, through resented the boys quick mastery of the spells. That must be Lily. This mutual appreciation of one another did not lead to an extended period of grace however…

Following Snape's personal tuition Harry had been exhausted and slept deeply: too deeply, causing yet another day in Snape's house to be spent in a tense and fractious atmosphere. Snape had risen early to prepare potions, healing potions, and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast after their completion. He occasionally glanced at the clock on the wall: 8 o'clock, 9 o'clock, 10 o'clock. He poured out some more tea into his china cup and went once more to his potions lab in the cellar of Spinner's End. He removed a length of parchment from a draw and placed an ink well and quill beside it before going to his store cupboard and looking inside. Yes he had some raw ingredients.

Harry finally awoke at half past ten and groggily pushed himself up from his pillow. He grabbed his glasses from his side table and shoved them on his nose letting the now familiar room to swim into focus. He looked at his watch and groaned inwardly. Maybe Snape wouldn't notice, he thought though a small voice in the back of his head added, fat chance. He swung his feet out of the bed and dressed swiftly. His stomach rumbled. Harry left his room and went down the stairs seeing Snape emerge from below.

"How kind of you to join me, Potter," said Snape dryly.

"Where's breakfast?" said Harry rubbing his tummy. As soon as he'd said it he realised that that was not a phrase that was going to illicit a positive response.

Snape frowned.

"That," said Snape pausing, while adding mentally, you ungrateful brat, "is inconsequential as at this hour you shall not be having any." Now Harry frowned. "This is not a holiday camp and I am not here to pander to your beck and call. Follow me."

Snape led the way down into the cool, dimly lit cellar and said, "Sit there," indicating a chair at the stone lab table in the centre of the room. Harry sat, stuck out his lower lip and crossed his arms as Snape walked behind him and reached to his store cupboard. Snape laid a collection of assorted creatures, leaves and minerals for preparation for potions in front of Harry pointing to each in turn and identifying them: Arrowroot, Glumbumbles and Harlstones. Harry cast his eyes down avoiding looking at them and Snape. In annoyance Snape shoved a book directly under Harry's face before dragging the chair out from under the table to the left of Harry and sitting himself down. Snape pulled the parchment towards himself and took up his quill.

"I suggest you get started. The pages are marked," said Snape before dibbing his quill in the ink and writing in an elegant hand across the page. Pointedly he said, "I suggest that you read the relevant section of that book in detail."

Harry looked glibly across the table where he could see the healing potions that Snape had brewed that morning. In neat and clear hand writing the potions had been labelled with the potion's name and strength with the approximate severity of the wounds that they would treat. Harry noted that Snape had lined them up in colour order, from the deepest red on the left to the lightest on the right, but that according to the labels the colour bore no relation to the potency of the potion. Harry wondered, and made a mental not to ask, how Snape knew how strong the potions were. Despite this interest Harry looked over the potions equipment and ingredients on the desk and frowned even more. He flicked the text book open at the first marker.

'Harlstones,' he read skimming the page and then finally looked at the items on the table, ' – to be powdered-'

The Harlstones, amethyst in colour and shaped like stalactites that had been snapped at the base, were the same strength as glazed porcelain and broke easily. Harry picked them up in a large handful and put them in an oversized granite mortar. Even with this slight movement the Harlstones snapped easily. He dragged the bowl over the table top and picked up the pestle raising it to head height and slamming it down into mortar and then raised it up to full height again. He took to his task with little grace what so ever, in the vague hope that Snape would get so fed up with the noise and commotion that he would tell him to stop.

"Grind. Don't smash. You will destroy the stone's properties if you smash them," reproached Snape scowling, "It was written in the book. Perhaps you should pay more attention to your reading as well as the time."

Harry tightened his grip on the pestle and slowly brought it down to the bowl once more pacing it on top of the crystals. Grinding this time, he broke the crystals down into small chunks, taking little care of their size or shape. As the pieces were broken down into smaller and smaller piece they released micro puffs of green dust which hung above the basin in an increasingly dense miasma. As the intensity of the clouds increased the depth of the green deepened and rose in high curling loops above the bowl. The darkening clouds formed into thinner and thinner threads, changing from a fragile gauze hanging in the air to a collection of tangible green wires. They wove in between one another, knitting together into a green tapestry while still individual loose threads reached increasingly higher. Harry continued to grind and grind. He stared into the bowl leaning his head down to the basin as the threads rose to meet his face.

"Ahh," gasped Harry as he suddenly felt a hand grip the back of his head yanking it backwards. Snape's hand grasped onto Harry's hair, dragging his head away from the green clouds, ripping hairs out from his scalp. Once Harry was up and sitting upright in his chair Snap released him. Harry had dropped the pestle on the floor where it lay cracked. The mortar rested on the table the green cloud resting low in the bowl once more. The tapestry pulled down.

"I think that that is a fine enough powder," said Snape sneering at Harry as he massaged the back of his head, wincing slightly in pain. Snape reached to the basin and picked up a glass bottle which he poured the fine powder into. The green dust clouds flowed in with purple powder creating a split layer purple and green effect, like the bottles of sand Harry had seen Dudley bring back from a school trip to the beach which Harry had not been on. Snape wrote out a label and sealed it. "Now do those," said Snape indicating the stack of Glumbumbles, "and read the book this time. In detail."

Harry scowled and took the first of the long yellow green critters. He brought the creature up to eye level staring into its lifeless face seeing its short antennas wilt and bob forlornly. He opened the book once more and rested the Glumbumble at the top of page 362. He read –

"Remove head, drain fluids… Do not inhale or drink liquids… Bottle internal liquids... Glumbumble… dangerous… misery…melancholy…antidote… Alihotsy leaves."

Harry removed the dead caterpillar like creature from the page and picked up another piece of potions apparatus: a knife. The knife was the same size and shape as a muggle box cutter and razor sharp. In one swift motion he sliced off the first Glumbumble's head. Its body hissed and deflated slightly. While the Glumbumble had been firm to hold before its decapitation, it became floppy and difficult to handle while its insides wept from the open cut that Harry had made. He quickly grabbed a rack of test tubes and ranged them in front of him on the work surface. Harry held his hand around the first Glumbumble's long thinly furred body, squeezing and squelching out a violet viscous liquid from its decapitated body and into the set of thin bottles. He had ten Glumbumbles to prepare in this way but it became increasingly difficult as the fluid splashed on the table and over the other Glumbumbles. The liquid numbed his hands, causing the animals to slip through his fingers and fall onto the table making it increasingly difficult to de-juice them. Harry's stomach gurgled unpleasantly. He was so hungry he felt sick. Harry looked away from the creatures and their gooey fluids. His stomach gurgled once more, louder this time causing Snape to cast a quick look over, which Harry missed.

"Sir, I'm hungry," said Harry, grasping the final Glumbumble firmly in his hands and squeezing it out like a puss filled spot into the last thin vial.

"Then you should have gotten up earlier and made it to breakfast," said Snape passively, not looking up form his writing. Snape raised his wand and with a flicking motion caused a set of corks to fly up and jam themselves into the mouths of the vials.

"Sir, I don't feel well," urged Harry pathetically. Again his stomach groaned audibly.

"Oh dear," said Snape sarcastically and scored out a line of what he was writing, before indicating the Arrowroot for Harry to prepare.

Taking the book once more he read the properties of the Arrowroot. It merely required dicing and aside form being sticky and vilely pungent, had no disgusting or dangerous attributes, unless combined with a further reactant. Harry's stomach gurgled again despite the nauseating smell entering his nostrils. Even the Glumbumbles deflated carcasses began to look appealing. Wait, he reconsidered, no they didn't.

"Sir, what would happen if I ate those?" asked Harry idly cutting the Arrowroot into narrow strips.

"You'd be ill," said Snape, focusing on his writing.

"But I feel ill now."

"No you don't you are merely hungry which you would not be-"

"- if I had gotten up earlier," said Harry with an exasperated note.

"Don't interrupt." There was silence, with Snape's quill creating the only sound in the room. The scratching stopped abruptly. Snape scanned the page before rolling it into a thin tube, flattening it, folding it and sealing it. He placed it in his pocket and rose to his feet and looked over Harry's work.

"Lunch time I think," said Snape, "and Potter… good job on the ingredients. Sale standard." Harry felt a strange pleasure in that and smiled slightly.

Snape spun on his heal and strode out of the room up the stairs.

Harry followed swiftly but was led to the living room rather than the kitchen. There in the corner of the room was Hedwig in her cage. She seemed to scowl at Harry, as far as any owl is able to scowl. He had ignored her to a great extent in the busyness of the past couple of days and she had not forgiven him for it. Having to sit alone and lonely in a cage with only Snape to change your food and water is not a brilliant way to spend your time. However this meant that when Snape reached into her cage she hopped onto his wrist for him to carry her out and she willingly extended her leg for him to attach the letter that he had been writing while Harry prepared his ingredients. She ruffled her feathers lightly and fluttered delicately to the widow sill before looking once into the room and with a powerful flap of her wings flew out of the window which Snape had opened wide, and into the midday sun.

"You know you should ask if you want to use my things, sir," said Harry waspishly.

Snape turned raising his eyebrow slightly, "I think someone who has ignored his pet for such an extended period of time, taking no care for her well being, has no claim to exert ownership rights. Or is your complaint merely an indication that you are not hungry after all?"

Harry frowned deeply.

"Well?" said Snape.

"No sir," said Harry. So it was to be like this for the next weeks. He was to live with a stiff and snappy man who picked on his faults and seemed to have a permanent memory block when it came to his achievements. Maybe yesterday had only been a blip. When Hedwig gets back, thought Harry, he would write to Ron. That would cheer him up.


	11. Chapter 11

I must apologise for the slight obsession with clouds and their type in this chapter. Sorry for how late this is and for any mistakes.

Pumping her wings in a smooth rhythmic motion, Hedwig ascended into the sky reaching her optimum flying height before settling into a long glide making occasional flaps of her wings to maintain the level. She circled once above the house before directing herself north in the clear midday sun. The crystal clear summer sky was punctuated only by high fluffy cirrus clouds and Hedwig's snowy body camouflaged in the sky as the sun increased the brilliance of her plumage. The sky lightened to white on the horizons before sinking blow the earth's curve.

Muted domestic and industrial noise reached Hedwig's ears but this became less and less frequent the further she got from Spinner's End. The houses below her created a grey mat which gradually modulate away from its dull monotones as patches of colour broke through first green splashes from parks then from sporadic fields and finally from open countryside which created a yellow and green and brown patchwork. She occasionally swooped low skimming the tops of cornfields or allotments or brushing the tops of fields of ripe rape seed. Pollen peppered her white underbelly a vivid yellow. She plucked a frog from a lake and dispatched it as she rested on a bank. She ate it before once more lifting up and heading into the sky and north once more. She increased speed eager to reach her destination and make her return back to Spinner's End. Despite how Harry had treated her she did miss him.

Hedwig again came over a town but skirted the suburbs. Glancing disinterestedly below she saw a circus with a candy stripped roof and sides The big top was like a mother-ship which had spawned a family of smaller red, white, blue, yellow and green roofed tents. The little tents of colours were surrounded by groups of people which moved fluidly between stands for candy-floss, popcorn, games and rides. The fair was lit up with bright lights letting Hedwig, from what was quite literally her bird's eye view, see individual families and lovers out on the summer evening. Sounds of love and merriment rose up to Hedwig that were far happier than those at Spinner's End.

"My balloon," a child cried, though Hedwig could not discern this from the general happy murmur below. Suddenly there was the apparition of teddy bear helium balloon which bobbed into her flight path. She avoided the ribbon tail and screeched at the threat. Flustered she pumped her wings viciously, up and down, up and down and cut through the air.

Night fell and still she sped north the constellation Canis Major above her and the crescent moon too her left. Below her the tracks of the motorway and minor roads glowed in orange. There were fewer and fewer of them the further she went before they were snuffed out all together. As the moon tracked its nightly progress through the sky, descending from its apex, she reached her destination: Hogwarts.

Like a small white ghost she came to rest on the edge of a closed stain glass window. She sat next to the coloured school crest. She tap, tap, tapped at the black eyes of the Hufflepuff house badger. Tap, tap, tap again and again. At last there was the click of a latch on the inside of the office and the Snake and Raven half of the shield swung inward. An old wizened hand extended though the gap onto which Hedwig hopped and was carried over the threshold and into Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore stood with his arm outstretched allowing Hedwig to rest on it. He had purple and yellow pyjama bottoms with a lilac top covered by an emerald robe. On his head he had a rich black night cap adorned with stars with a matching beard sock on his chin making his head resemble a floating moon in the sky. His half-moon spectacles flickered in the light from the smouldering flames in the hearth

"Hello, Hedwig," said the Headmaster gently stroking her soft breast. Hedwig extended her leg and Albus removed the letter before taking her to Fawkes's empty perch onto which she jumped, dipping her beak in to the absent fowl's water bowl. "Lumos." The lights of the candelabra flicked on.

Albus went to his desk slipping his glasses down the bridge of his nose and broke the seal on the letter and read its contents. Once finished he looked up and stared into the flames before smiling wryly to himself. His blue eyes twinkled in the light and he took out a quill and wrote a reply in green ink. He sealed it and attached it Hedwig's leg.

Hedwig, after a short rest, took flight once more allowing her nocturnal nature to over run her. A fresh letter tied to her leg she ascended once more into the sky which was no longer clear but pock marked with tiny Altocumulus clouds dappled in the air.

"… and that is how you calculate the strength of a healing potion despite that lack of correlation between depth of colour and effectiveness of potion," Snape finished his lecture. Harry had been dubious about asking Snape about the potions but despite his initial reservations, and this was not something that he would be writing in the letter he was planning to write to Ron, Snape's lecture had been interesting. Hermione would have loved it.

Snape got up from the kitchen table and brewed a pot of tea. From an upper cupboard he removed two cups pouring the brown liquid into the white porcelain and added pure white milk into both. He did not add any sugar. While he did this Harry looked at his black covered back, this was not so bad, he thought. I mean, he added, he may be a bit moody and tetchy but he wasn't tyrannical or cruel, still I don't really want to annoy him. Snape turned round and Harry turned back to his hands. The cup clinked gently as Snape placed it in front of him.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry. It was becoming habit now, but he had not noticed the change. Snape had and he was not displeased with it.

"Be careful it is hot," Harry smiled at him slightly. Snape continued, "I thought we could recap the spells you learnt yesterday and then, if you can perform them, move onto something new."

"Yes, sir," said Harry eagerly, "Sir, can I learn something to attack with?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Hmm… may be something more defensive first. Disarmament will be useful. Drink you tea."

Harry did look a little disappointed but he could easily see an application of disarmament. He looked into his cup. Snape had made it very milky. Peering over into Snape's cup he could see it was much darker.

"Sir, yes do you have any potion books?"

"Potter you do ask some ridiculous questions. I am a potions master, of course I have potions books."

"Can a read some?"

Snape looked as if Harry had begun speaking fluent mermish.

"What?"

"Can I read some?

"Why?"

"Well, some of that stuff you told me, about the healing potions and the ingredients and stuff, well…" if you tell anyone this I will kill you, thought Harry, "well it was really interesting."

Snape closed his mouth which had opened slightly. "I should give you a potion. You can not be feeling well." Harry could have sworn he saw the side of Snape's mouth twitch, "Yes, I will find you something."

They drank some more tea and Harry's mind returned to his mental letter. He would have to ask Snape.

"Sir?" Harry began.

"Yes, Potter."

"Sir…may I," Harry fidgeted, he did not want to have to ask and he did not want Snape to say no, yet he hadn't said no about the potions book, a small voice said. Snape couldn't say no. She was his. "Sir may I…"

"Potter you are becoming repetitious."

"Yes sir," Harry frowned and swallowed his temper. He was going to be polite and he was going to ask nicely. Although he suspected Snape couldn't have any more ingredients for him to prepare Harry did not want to be proved wrong. He doubted he could have prepared the Glumbumbles on his now full stomach. "I would like to write to my friends, sir."

"You do?" Snape smiled grimly looking directly into Harry's eyes.

No you don't you git, thought Harry anticipating Snape's rejection. Anger bubbled within him.

"Well, I think that would be fine," said Snape who swallowed more tea.

"That is not…" began Harry angrily before his brain had quite registered what had been said. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed," said Snape cocking one eyebrow. "So, do you want to write it now or after we have done some practice?"

"Well Hedwig isn't back so later. I'll write the letter later," Harry clarified, anticipating Snape's snide remark, of which Snape approved, "After disarmament."

It was late when Harry finally got to his room when the moon was up and it was dark outside. Dinner had been good. They had talked. Harry was going to learn new spells, new potions. Everything new, new, new…and useful.

Harry threw his book on the bed. As he had been promised the book was on potions and was similar to his school text book, though heavily annotated. He had been told to read the first chapter this evening but he was fidgety. He was full of energy.

He had made Snape flip. FLIP!! Not him in an angry outburst but literally backwards, once over! The sight of him, flipping. He had not been as angry as Harry had thought he would have been. In fact that was the reason that Harry had to read the first chapter of this new book: annotated. Harry sighed but forced himself to sit.

In his bedroom Harry pulled out some new parchment and a quill and wrote verbatim the first chapter of the book. The Babbling Beverage was the focus (when was he ever going to use that).

It was much later when Harry finally started his letter to Ron. He knew what he was going to say but he did feel that the letter sounded awkward, but it was done.

_Hi Ron,_

_I am still staying at Snape's and he is treating me well, don't worry. I hope you and your brothers did not get into too much trouble with your Mum for taking the car. I thought it was really cool. Life here is so much better than at my Uncle and Aunt's house so thanks. _

_Snape got me Quidditch through the Ages so no more borrowing from the library! I saw all the brooms in Diagon Ally and the Quidditch rankings and I have my school books and stuff for next year. _

_I have learnt lots. Snape makes me study loads and I have learnt stuff for next year and not for class either. _

_From,_

_Harry_

_P.S. Thanks again._

Tap, tap, tap at the window and a familiar white face at the window.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the wait! I have tried to check this as much as I could and I hope that you enjoy this : )

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Hedwig snapped her beak in annoyance, her feathers puffed out making her seem like a giant ball of lint from a tumble dryer that was standing on a paper tray, as Harry tried to approach her with his freshly sealed letter. She was knackered, and if Harry thought that she was going anywhere he was sorely mistaken. She nipped his finger as he reached toward her. Harry pouted slightly when it became clear that his letter was not going anywhere that evening and stowed it precariously in his trouser pocket before turning his attention back to his familiar. There was a letter with the hallmark green writing of the Hogwarts Headmaster attached to her left leg and her downy breast was flecked with yellow pollen and Harry thought of the fields she must have flown over earlier, how he wished that he could have gone with her and felt the wind in his hair, the adrenaline flooding his body and his heart pumping in his chest. He cleaned the pollen away from her by brushing her down before detaching her papery burden. He looked thoughtfully at the neatly folded letter and gently chewed his tongue, wondering what the letter contained and whether it was about him. He placed it in his pocket with his own letter where it seemed to smoulder.

"Come on, Hedwig," said Harry extending his arm in front of her legs for her to step onto, which she duly did. The muscles in her legs shook from the strain of the flight and Harry clucked his tongue comfortingly allowing her feathers to settle down so that they lay flat on her body. Harry left his room and padded softly down the stairs to the living room, careful for Snape not to hear him on the way. It was late, very late and he did not want to be found out of bed. Silently, he unclasped Hedwig's cage and let her hop onto her perch while Harry proceeded to refill her food bowl and removed the water bowl, which he would have to take to the bathroom. Harry put his hand in his pocket and felt Snape's letter looking pensively into space. He didn't know what Snape had written to Dumbledore but he bet that it was about him. Maybe he could work it out from the response that was in his pocket. Harry took the letter out and held it in his hand, looking at the emerald ink which was identical to the annual letters he received. He could just open it, quick and simple. Snape would never have to know, he could repair it. Or, if he just bent the parchment slightly he could read the interior mouth that the folds of the paper would form, like a dentist looking at the ridges of someone's mouth and inspecting the plaque one the teeth. But no, that could damage the letter and then Snape would know, and then Harry would be in a world of trouble. Harry frowned, but suddenly the answer to his problem struck him: a memory from the spy films that Dudley used to watch on the telly. He looked at the light in the centre of the ceiling. It would be bright enough.

Harry stood below the light and raised his right hand holding the letter steadily between his thumb and forefinger, trying to cover a minimum of the text that was concealed within. He was too short and too far away. He frowned and creased his brow in thought, scanning the room for possible solutions to his problem. He saw Snape's chintz armchair. Perfect. As quietly as he could, Harry pulled the chair beneath the light pushing the mahogany coffee table away and up against the sofa. He stood on the seat of the chair with his back to the door and reached up once more with the letter. Too far again, though the light shone through the opaque cream paper in a muted way. Resting one arm on the chair's arched back and thrusting his other hand, which still held Hedwig's bowl out for balance, Harry placed his feet on either arm of the chair. The chair creaked ominously in protest. Harry extended himself to his full height and stretched up once more placing the letter as close as he dared to the light.

"POTTER!" Snape strode forward into his living room, surveying the broken furniture and Potter. He had gone completely white, a mixture of anger and fear. Whereas earlier in the day he had flipped literally he was now about to flip figuratively.

In alarm Harry snapped his head round and misbalanced himself spectacularly as he shifted his weight from across the two arms just to the right hand side of the chair causing it to come away from the main frame. As the arm fell away from under him Harry from where he was and crashed into the coffee table which split beneath him letting him come to rest on the floor. The bowl dropped out of Harry's grip and span comically on its circumference as Harry laid crying and groaning in pain. Hedwig screeched violently from her cage which rocked precariously on its stand as she beat her wings on the bars in response to the commotion.

"AHH," Harry moaned, creasing Snape's letter and tucking it into the band of his trousers, attempting to hide it from Snape. His own letter to Ron slipped unnoticed from his pocket. Shifting his weight his arm made a sickening creaking noise as the two halves of Harry's bones rubbed against one another. He called out and started to cry harder, shaking horribly. Snape took three deep breaths as Harry continued to whimper at his feet. Bending down Snape grasped Harry under the armpit of his good arm and wrenched him to his feet making Harry call out in unrestrained anguish as his broken arm hung to the side. With a flick of his wand Snape conjured a sling from the ether which held Harry's limb tight to his torso. Harry bit his lower lip and screwed his eyes shut as Snape dragged him from the room, away from the debris of his misdeeds and into the kitchen, where he was forced into a chair.

"Stay," said Snape, addressing Harry like a feral animal that had invaded his home. Snape left the room and went down into the cellar where he scanned the shelves and started to count. One, two, three…breathe deeply: in for four and out for four, a voice in the back of his head said, there is an innocent explanation…four, five, six… innocent explanation my backside, a second snider voice chimed in, you saw the letter and the owl and both of those must have come from Albus…seven, eight…it may have been addressed to Potter, the first voice replied…nine…I requested an immediate reply to my correspondence and that is what Potter has…TEN! While the internal dialogue had raged within him, Snape's eyes had found one of the bottled potions on his store shelves. The counting had helped him calm down but only slightly. The nosy-parker, how dare he? His breathing quickened again and he was forced to hold himself in check, closing his eyes and attempting to clear his mind of all thought. His fist shook as it clenched tighter around the bottle. What to do with Potter?

Snape mounted the stairs and re-entered the kitchen. Potter had remained at the table where he had been left and was looking decidedly sorry for himself. His face was blotchy and tear stained and he nursed his broken arm through the sling with his free hand. His nose was running and he sniffed loudly every so often inhaling the liquid which dangled from his nostrils. Snape scowl deepened in disgust. De drew his wand and conjured a tissue which he shoved under Harry's nose.

"Blow," ordered Snape. Harry turned his head away roughly and sniffed viciously once more. Snape made a second attack with the tissue, which Harry dodged wincing as he was forced to move his arm. "Blow!"

"I am not four," Harry spat out between his teeth. Tears came to his eyes and he looked down, focussing on the table top, anywhere rather than at Snape who seemed to be attempting to bore a whole through his body with his eyes. Snape pulled Harry's good arm away from the sling and shoved the tissue into it as Harry sniffed wetly once more. Harry blew his nose while continuing to stare at the table. He bit his lip.

"Well?" said Snape, putting the bottle delicately down on the table, "are you going to tell me what you were up to?"

"Are you going to fix my arm?" retorted Harry. This was not the right response, as Snape was force to count to ten once more, creating a silence in which Harry returned his attention to the table. Maybe I am just suicidal, he thought, yeah that would explain why I find myself on the third floor corridor having to fight for my life and why I can't keep my giant mouth shut and stay out of trouble. He must just have a death wish.

Snape grabbed Harry's broken arm and pulled it out of the sling, forcing it straight. Harry screamed in agony. He had never been in so much pain; well not since Quirrel had laid hands upon him. Snape pulled the limb taught and straight with one hand on Harry's wrist and the other on his shoulder pushing the two points apart.

"Drink the potion," said Snape. Harry struggled to even see the potion; his vision seemed to be being blotted out by the white heat of the pain. He saw that it was one of the healing potions he had helped with and felt incredibly sad as he looked at the watery red quality of the fluid. It was the strongest one that had been made, and he knew why it wasn't the brightest in colour. The muscles in his body shuddered horribly as he uncorked it single-handedly and held it between his lips; tipping his head backwards he swallowed it in one quick gulp. A hot light burnt through his arm and the bones clicked and crunched back into position. Snape immediately dropped Potter's arm which hit the table with a thud, before sitting opposite from him. Harry stretched out his arm and wiggled his fingers. The corners of mouth twitched upwards.

"Thanks," he said. There was still silence from Snape who continued to stare unblinkingly, but Harry had no answer for him. He didn't know why he had done it and nothing that he said could explain it. He didn't want Snape to use his owl, but that wasn't really the reason. He wanted to know what Dumbledore had said and he suspected that it had been about him, that wasn't it either. He looked up at Snape who was still staring at him. "I'm sorry, sir,"

"That wasn't my question, Potter. What were you up to?"

I suppose honesty is always an option, thought Harry. Harry reached into the back of his waistband and removed the letter and attempted to smooth it flat on the table and then pushed it along the table.

"Accio," the letter floated into his hand and Snape's beliefs were confirmed.

"I tried to read it, sir."

"Why?"

Harry stared at his hands and spread them on the desk. Why did he do these things?

"Why, Potter?" said Snape again. "Potter?" he repeated, his tone a mixture of exasperation and disappointment, and slightly uncharacteristic of him. Potter had begun to exceed his, albeit low, expectations. He was not as arrogant, lazy or rude as Snape had first found him to be. "Well?"

"I don't have an answer, sir," Harry said forlornly.

"I am very disappointed, Potter." Harry sniffed again. "Go to your room."

Snape left the kitchen table and went to his living room to evaluate the damage there. Shutting the door behind him he picked up a loose part of the chair and tossed it into the air, catching it with grace. This he repeated in a steady rhythm, frowning. He heard Harry pad up the stairs almost silently but the stairs creaked under his slight weight. The patter on the step quickened on the first creak as he shot up the stairs. Snape heard Potter's room door click almost imperceptibly. Continuing to throw the baton he looked at the door. He finally tired of his catching and dropped the wood to the floor and drew his wand making quick work of repairing the furniture that Harry had destroyed. A small fold of paper on the floor caught his eye and he picked it up, seeing the childish writing on the front he immediately recognised it as the letter Harry must have written to one of his ghastly little friends. How would he like it? Snape wondered. With that he ripped open Harry's letter.

Snape sucked his lower lip so hard that the skin was bleached white from its sallow yellow. Hmm, treating him well, Quidditch, learning lots… he couldn't stop treating him well no matter how he felt at this very moment, he couldn't stop teaching or training him, that would defeat his letter to Dumbledore, and potion prep had now become fun, but Quidditch? No. Obliterating Harry's memory would probably be going a little too far even for him and besides then Potter would not even be aware that he had been punished as the satisfaction he felt about his new learned knowledge would disappear along with his memories. What to do?

As he thought, he sunk onto his chair and screwed Harry's letter into a tight ball. He would have to talk to him. That was the only option. He was meant to punish Harry not himself!

Please Review!!


	13. Chapter 13

Must apologise for the VERY late chapter. In my defence I have had exams and I've been abroad working in Europe with no access to a computer let alone my writing!! However I am very well recharged and ready to race toward the finish (eventually!)

Please review!

* * *

Snape tapped his foot thrice on the bottom step before he began his climb to the top. He went slowly, feeling Harry's letter in his pocket and trying to think of what he could say to him about his behaviour. It was just so stupid. Why is it boys just don't think. What is it that happens between the age of 11 and 12 which results in the transformation of a young man's brain from an organ which could interpret the world, understand consequences and form reasonable arguments with at least basic reasoning into a non-processing lump of fat, water and salts. Girls weren't like this he swore. Granger's parents would never have these issues with her trying to read their post. Hell, even Pansy Pakinson's family would not have these issues. Malfoy though? … case in point.

Snape rapped his knuckles on the banister and rested on the top step before walking on to what he now thought of as Harry's room. He raised his hand, paused once more, and tapped twice on Harry's door, briskly. Let's keep this quick and professional, thought Snape. He waited and heard nothing. He knocked again, louder. Still there was nothing.

Knock, knock,

"Harry, are you there?" Snape said. There was nothing. "Harry, respond." Snape was getting angry now. This was purely rudeness from the boy. "HARRY."

"Hmm," the noise came dully though his bedroom's door.

"Potter, you will stop this rudeness and speak or you will stay in that room until the start of term!" threatened Snape, though compared to his normal standard of intimidation it was a bit of a damp squib. He remembered a time when he would have threatened to flay him alive, hang him above a vat of dragon entrails and gradually lower him in or merely sustain his long campaign of hate, animosity and psychological abuse against all things Potter. "Harry," He said menacingly.

"Yes," a small, strained voice said through the door.

"Yes what?" there was a dark pause between the two words as Snape waited expectantly though not hopefully.

"Yes, I'm here…sir," there was a continued silence between Harry and Snape and the door. To Snape's slight surprise Harry did clue on. "Come in."

Grimly Harry thought, the Dursley's would never ask to enter. They would just barge straight through regardless and start shouting at you. Harry faintly wished that he was still there. Judging by the sour scowl on Snape's face something unpleasant was going to happen and he, Harry, was not going to like it. .

Snape looked down at Harry who was on his bed. Harry looked so small, and his face was marked pink and white from where he had been crying. His green eyes were bloodshot, adding evidence for the prosecution, thought Snape wryly. Mockingly, he ran a Wizengamot styled court case through his mind. The thought of that windbag Fudge accusing him of making the Boy wonder sad and sentencing him to life imprisonment made him want to give a wry smile, though he kept this hidden. Now was Potter repentant or scared for his own skin, wondered Snape turning his mind back to the matter in hand. Harry's lip wobbled dangerously as Snape reached into the front of his robes. But, like a child's magician, Snape drew out a white tissue, rather than anything more menacing, and held it out for Harry.

"Don't cry," said Snape. This did not have the desired effect, as tears leaked out of Harry's eyes even faster. This wasn't fair, thought Snape seating himself on the end of the bed, the boy had done something wrong and was deservedly feeling bad for it so why do I feel so happy? Why does making the boy understand and respect me and my property make me feel like I am the one being punished? Point to opposing council, his mind added. He scowled even harder as Harry mopped his face gruffly.

Snape turned away from Harry and looked pensively at the wall opposite him. He performed a detailed study, noticing a damp patch on the ceiling which had stained the white paint a pussy yellow. Staring at this Snape said, "Boys are such a bother."

Oh God, thought Harry, Snape was going to talk to him! Kill me now. I always say the wrong thing. Why does he do this to me?! Harry sniffed and fiddled with his tissue, blinking hard.

"What were you thinking?" Snape began by labouring an old point, though on looking at Harry's expression quickly changed tack. He sighed "You really were stupid, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Harry I'm not looking for tacit agreement. I am looking for communication. What went through your mind when you mounted that chair? Didn't you think that that could be dangerous? Or do you just enjoy invading my privacy?"

Harry crossed his arms across his chest and stuck out his lip sulkily. Feeling rather brave, he said, "You're horrible. Have you never done anything stupid?"

"Yes," said Snape darkly. Through the propositions case was becoming stronger, helping him feel less guilty about having to punish Harry.

"Well, why am I in trouble when you've done stupid things?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and looked down stonily at Harry who crossed his arms even tighter against his chest. He said nothing.

"Well it's true. It's true. And it's not fair. Coz everyone makes mistakes and you just hate me…and you're unfair… and… nasty and …," Harry talked himself into silence contemplating the injustice of the situation. Why do adults and especially Snape do this to him?

There was a lengthy pause. "Why?" repeated Snape. He was hard faced once more. Harry's outburst had not endeared him. He could see the votes in the Wizengamot mounting in his favour. _The child is irrational,_ Fudge's voice wheezed.

The silence grew unpleasantly and seemed to take on an almost physical presence in the stand-off between the two. I know who is going to crack first, thought Snape, and it's not going to be me! I'm sure of that. He fixed his dark eyes onto Harry's green ones.

"I thought it might be about me," Harry said in a very small voice, braking eye contact. Snape's mouth twitched and he looked down to his knees at Harry's response. Just because the boy had been right was not an excuse, he had to remind himself. Snape again put his hand in his pocket but this time closed his hand around Harry's letter and drew it out. It looked worse for wear: whereas Harry had folded the paper neatly, it was now crushed up like a meringue. An edge torn and the text written in Harry's boyish hand was visible. Snape opened his mouth to speak.

"My letter," Harry's voice broke in indignation as he leapt forward for the letter, rudely interrupting Snape. Snape snapped his arm upwards out of Harry's reach using his height advantage, using his spare hand to push Harry back onto the bed. Snape towered over Harry who had scrambled on the bed where he stood trying to reach his letter. Anyone looking in on the room would have been reminded of a playground fight.

"Get your feet off that bed and sit down," said Snape trying to trip Harry up and throw him on to his backside.

"GIVE ME MY LETTER," shouted Harry jumping out of his way.

"Do not shout," Snape's voice was barely above a whisper as he shoved his hand into Harry's face trying to drown out Harry's angry yells.

"GIVE ME IT," Harry shouted though he was muffled markedly. Harry fell back and landed relatively softly on his pillows.

"Right that's it," said Snape retreating to the door, "You are having a Calming Draught."

"NO I'm NOT," said Harry stamping his feet chasing toward Snape and stretching up to try and get his letter.

"Yes you are, even it I have to pour it down your neck," at that Snape swooped out the door turning round only to shove Harry off of his robe into his room and locking the door. He went down the stairs to the cellar grabbed the blue-green bottle containing the draught and went back up to Harry's room.

Snape grasped the handle of the door, unlocking it and flinched back as a shock flew up his arm. The boy had locked it himself!

"Harry, open this door."

"NO," said Harry stubbornly.

"Harry," said Snape threateningly, "open this door this instance."

The door shook slightly from the inside. Snape pushed the door. It went forward a little before it stopped again and sprung back. Harry sat behind the door with his knees pressed to his chin wedging the door closed. Tears again fell down his face.

"OPEN THIS DOOR."

"NO," cried out Harry as he was once more pushed forward as Snape tried to open the door again. He heard a snort of pain through the door as he felt a flash of magic pass through him. Now he was for it. He regretted the letter now; both his and Snape's. He rubbed hard at his eyes and braced his legs. There were going to be bars on his windows here that was for sure and that's it if he was lucky, thought Harry. The door shook as Snape banged on the door. By the sound of it he was going to murder him when he got through that door.

CRACK.

"AHH," shouted Snape. There was a thump and the banging on the door stopped abruptly. Harry paused and exhaled. From where he was sitting braced against the door he looked upward to the handle which was no longer shaking. Was Snape trying to trick him? Harry extended his hand to the knob and twisted it, hearing the lock click to the side. He opened the door an inch and pressed his eye to the crack and looked down. Snape was lying on the ground opposite his door.

"Snape?" Harry whispered, opening the door wider and stepping out. "Snape?" he repeated. Harry knelt down by his Professor and lifted his arm up by the wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there. Well he isn't dead, thought Harry, but he is unconscious. That was very dangerous, Harry knew. When the Dursley's had been out once, he'd watched a TV show called _Casualty_ where someone had hit his head and fell into a coma and died! Harry wrung his hands and looked down at Snape, his tears drying on his face as his mind turned to other things. He was trapped in this house, there was no phone to get an ambulance with and Snape was in a coma and dying, thought Harry. He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes tearing up again with fear. Oh Help, the thought, what can I do.

Suddenly a thought struck Harry. With that bolt from the blue he dropped Snape's wrist which fell, clunk, onto the floor. Quickly, Harry leapt up to his feet and ran, practically flying, down the stairs. He went straight to the cellar door wrenching it open and going down into the dark cellar. Harry felt along the wall and found the light switch, flicking it on, filling the room with dim light. He went past the work station where he and Snape had prepared ingredients days before and went straight to the shelves and reached up to the vials of potions. He couldn't reach, so doubling back he dragged over a stool and stood on its seat. Now level with the bottles he read the labels of the red potions, ignoring the other bright jewels.

_Weak – Nose Bleeds etc, Very Strong – Head wound and Heavy bleeding, Potent – Cramps etc , Mild – cuts and abrasions, Superfluous – Mortal Peril…_ Mortal Peril was all Harry needed to read to know which one he was going to pour down Snape's neck. He grabbed the potion, which was the colour of a jar of water someone had rinsed their red paint brushes in, and ran with it up the stairs. He knocked off some other potions, disturbed a chair and left the light on in his haste.

Snape was still lying on the floor where Harry had left him. He had not moved or stirred.

"Sir, if you can hear me, I am going to give you a potion," Harry still received no response, not even a flicker; though talking did make him feel better (he had a vague remembrance that the wife of the man in the coma in Casualty had spoken to him…before he died). Harry's throat tightened at that memory. He swiftly unplugged the bottle. He put his free hand under Snape's head tilting it upward, allowing Snape's mouth to loll open. Harry poured the fluid down Snape's through, hearing it trickle and chug from the bottle. He didn't stop pouring until it was emptied of its very last drop.

Harry waited.


	14. Chapter 14

Hope you enjoy the chapter and that you read and review positively!!

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Harry rested on his knees and placed his hand on Snape's clammy forehead. He had still not moved, though his heart was beating faster and faster in his chest. Doubt suddenly flooded though Harry as he stroked Snape's forehead. What if it didn't work? What if he'd labelled the bottles wrong? What if Snape didn't wake up?

"Wake up Snape. Please wake up," Harry said at barely a whisper. "Please, please, please, wake up Snape. I'm sorry, Snape." Harry got louder and started patting Snape on the head gently. He began to cry noiselessly as he looked at Snape's motionless figure. "I'm s - sorry, s- s- 'orry." Harry sniffed and spluttered out a cough. "I'm sorry for getting angry and shouting and fighting you and looking in letters and not respecting you and standing on chairs and getting hurt. I'm s- s- sorry." Harry closed his eyes and cried harder. He stopped patting Snape's head, rested his hand on his shoulder and cried.

Snape's eyelids flickered. Gradually feeling came back to his body and he wished that it would go away again. Slowly, he flexed his fingers and toes. There was the tang of rusty pennies in his mouth, the after taste of the potion, which he swallowed down hard. He lay immobile for a moment letting his senses adjust. His ears twitched as if they were independent from the rest of his head letting his ears pop and for him to hear the snivelling and spluttering to his right. His head jerked slightly and he squeezed his eyes tighter before gradually opening them and turning to look at the boy. Harry hadn't noticed, he was still crying rubbing his hand across his face and sniffing at his runny nose.

Slowly Snape pushed himself up on his elbow and dragged himself into a sitting position. Still Harry was crying. Snape looked at him and his runny nose. Frowning and praying no one was looking Snape reached out his pale hand and rubbed Harry's back in small circles. Harry began to shake and without warning threw himself into Snape's chest, sobs wracking his body, his nasal fluids flowing onto Snape's front. Snape looked down but kept rubbing Harry's back until gradually his sobs receded. He slowed down his rubbing and gently prised Harry off of his torso. Snape looked into his face and retrieved another tissue from his pocket and wiped Harry's face. He was beginning to have more tissues than a Kleenex box.

"I think you mean, I'm sorry sir," he said it very gently and allowed a smile to break across his face. It twitched; the muscles didn't get used very often.

Snape pushed himself to his feet and swayed slightly, silver flecks of light floated in front of his eyes. He steadied himself and said, "Come along Harry." Snape reached down and gently took the lad by the hand, leading him down the stairs. Obediently Harry was led to the kitchen table where he sat down.

"You and I are both going to eat some chocolate," he said it in the same authoritarian tone as normal but Harry definitely felt a little Dumbledore in Snape, there was certainly some caring there. Snape stretched up to a cupboard and removed a bar a chocolate. His whole body felt curiously light. What has Harry given me?

Harry received half of the bar of chocolate and it looked far newer that the one he had eaten a few days previously. It was shiny, not powdery, and broke apart crisply when he snapped it. Harry chewed the bar while Snape broke his into little cubes putting them individually into his mouth. The kitchen sink seemed to be swimming in and out of focus; the taps were not the same length anymore. He hiccupped.

"Harry, what did you give me?" he seemed to sway in his seat, looking at Harry.

Harry bit down on his chocolate hard, his eyes widened involuntarily. "A healing potion, sir. It was a very strong one – Mortal Peril."

"I see…" he turned back to his chocolate blocks again and hiccupped once more. He had stopped smiling and looked cross to Harry's mind. "You thought very quickly Harry… though you did rather over-compensate with that I think. ," said Snape, looking at him. "Oh and Harry, well done."

Harry looked at the table top and examined the knots in the woodwork very carefully. He realised that he had been doing this a lot lately, but it helped him think. Was he in trouble? The tally chart of the past couple of hours events would say yes, yes he was. However, Snape had not started lecturing him (yet) and he was enjoying the warming glow of the chocolate coursing through his body. He stifled a yawn. He felt so tired, his throat and head ached from the crying and shouting and he just wanted to curl up in his bed. He threw a cursory glance at Snape and then returned his attentions to the table.

"You are trouble, you know that don't you," Snape's mind felt funny. His world was fuzzy at the edges.

"Yes, sir."

Snape sighed and pointed an accusatory finger at Harry. "Harry…. You know what you did was wrong." Harry nodded in agreement looking very hard at Snape's face. "Well… then I suggest we put the events of today behind us. Don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just like your father…"

"What do you mean sir?

Harry never found out what Snape meant as his professor promptly fell forward onto the table and lay there sprawled snoring deeply.

The crescent moon illuminated the extensive lawns of the mansion's grounds. The neatly manicured topiary painstakingly formed into ornate dragons and snakes keeping their verdant eyes trained over the estates. A cracking noise broke the silent night as the dragon stretched upwards to the sky and opened its wings to their largest extent. The snake yawned lazily before snapping its jaw closed hiding its hard thorn teeth. Nothing had stirred before them that night as it had not done for weeks. There was still nothing for them to report to their master and although it prolonged their enchantment it prevented a lot of hassle for them: still nothing to report. No one had come up the marble chip path or clambered over the rose covered walks, the perfume of the night jasmine had not wafted up to their bewitched nostrils and the surface of the fountain, whose water continued to pour forth from the mouth of the ornamental mermaid, had been disturbed by anything other than the ripples caused by the charmed flow. Still their master had not lifted his spell upon them. The dragon snorted out a cloud of leaves, thorns and petals letting the mock flames drift to the ground harmlessly while the snake's twiggy tongue flicked in and out of its mouth. They maintained their unasked for watch.

Behind them the main building, built from grey stone, cast an imposing shadow. The stone masonry had been carved intricately to outline the doorways with a set of white painted French windows leading out to a high raised balcony. It was in the same condition as it had been when it was built three hundred years earlier and would have put the Snape residence to shame were they to be compared, in fact as they had been compared by the proud owners of the grander building. The owners knew Snape was a mudblood and after all, you can only do so much with a filthy mudblood.

At the window stood a tall haughty blond surveying the landscape; her bony hand clasped a crystal tumbler containing a golden sugary liquid. She sloshed it round in a cyclone forcing the fluid up the sides of the glass. She stared almost sightlessly outward. Past her, the room was bedecked with dark mahogany furniture. A tall bookcase stood on the rear walls packed stylishly with weighty uniform hardbacks, unlike Snape's case it was not overfull. A glass cabinet held an array of silver artefacts, no doubt Borgin and Burkes's finest works. The door into the room was open.

The hallway it led onto flowed stylistically into a large entrance hall with a plaster and gilt ceiling. There was an oversized, ostentatious staircase which swept upwards to a mezzanine floor which offered a viewing platform onto the space below. Of course it equally allowed the viewees on the floor to see the viewer above, allowing the spectator to dominate and impress his guests at official parties held there.

Off of this level there was a corridor down which there were a series of rooms, each with an impressive polished wood door. There was a faint smell of wax. Each room had a purpose; the second on the left was a bathroom containing a green marble bath suite with a set of taps carved in jade and embossed with jewels; the first on the right a spare room with black silk sheets for receiving visitors; the fourth on the right a living room, which was largely unlived in by the family; and the fifth on the left contained a boy lying on a bed.

The boy was blond and lay face down on his pillow letting his hair obscure his face. He was sobbing and the pillow partially masked the sound. Boys shouldn't cry; men shouldn't cry, a voice in his head repeated again and again. His body quaked as he wrapped his arms around his pillow and squeezed it tightly for some comfort. He was too old for stuffed toys, so his father had gotten rid of them one day. He just cried harder and harder.

The final room on the corridor also had its door shut, but it was not merely closed too, it was hermetically sealed with enough spells that it would have taken some of the finest that the department of mysteries had to offer in order to get it open. Inside there were the normal objects to be found in an office, in a wizarding office anyway. A large Sneakoscope rested on its side on top of a walnut desk, on the wall hung a large mirror, a foe glass, in which innumerable shadows swilled coming in and out of focus as they went closer and further from the glass. There was the expected array of quill and parchment and in the corner of the room there was an ornamental birdcage for an absent owl. A thick rug was thrown across the centre of the room; it was run through with cloth-of-gold. Possibly the most important feature of the room however was the marble fireplace, whose grate stood with nothing in it but a tall silver urn engraved with an large M. The urn was filled with a fine grey powder. Without warning there was a flash of light which filled the room with flickering flames.

Out from the now fire filled grate stepped a tall blood man with a pointed face and steel eyes. He looked comfortable in the room, as he should being the owner of the house: Lucius Malfoy. The flames did not stop burning at his entrance as he was followed in by two more men. The first had a grey mane of hair, waxy almost yellow skin like a lemon, and a crooked nose. The second was younger, portly and red face. Neither of them looked happy to be there.

"Well?" said Malfoy turning to look at the men. "What news of Potter?"

Both were silent.

"Graves. Speak."

"We have no news," said Graves, the man with the grey hair. His clothes were thick travelling robes made of deep green tweed. He looked sullen. "There is no news to be had, Malfoy. We have checked everything. If we had news from inside Hogwarts…"

Malfoy snapped his wand upwards. "Crucio," said Malfoy, pointing his wand at Graves's heart. The man dropped and twitched on the floor. Malfoy pulled his wand away. The portly man maintained his silence though looked away uncomfortably.

Malfoy put his heel onto Graves's throat. "I want every owl, every chimney, every ministry department monitored. We will find out where Potter is, regardless of any contacts we do or do not have inside Hogwarts." He squeezed his foot harder on Graves's jugular. "The Dark Lord is not to be disappointed. DO you understand?" Graves grunted from the floor and Malfoy slowly lifted his heel.

"So," said Graves getting himself off of the floor and straightening the neck of his robes and massaging where Malfoy had put his foot, "when shall we three meet again?"

"When you have a result. And let heaven help you if you don't have one soon."


	15. Chapter 15

The chains above their heads went tapped rhythmically as they plunged forwards and backwards. They weren't in time. He saw her move in flashes of red, green and white as she rose and fell. Her light green cotton summer dress ballooned out around her spindly legs at the front and at the back. Her long red hair flew about her head. It had fallen loose from its toggle so that, instead of its equine elegance, it looked wild and untamed. He loved her like that. Each swing sent her higher and higher, while he was fixed at the same level. They never crossed at the same point. At the top of the arch she launched herself into the air. She seemed to fall for eternity just spinning and spinning and spinning until suddenly she stopped.

Snape leapt from the swing, the chains continued their tap, tap, tapping. She stayed in the air. Her green eyes were staring at nothing, a smile across her face. She looked so peaceful. That red hair was splayed out in front of him. He reached out his hand and pulled it towards his face.

Tap, tap, TAP…

Burning red light flooded Snape's vision. His eyes weren't open; they seemed to be stuck shut. He squeezed his eyes tightly pushing himself into a maroon darkness trying to recapture the fleeting images. It couldn't be done. His mouth relaxed from the slight smile he had been holding. He released his eyes from their struggle and returned to the burning red. Gradually, he drew his mind away from kinder reveries and towards a more focused reality.

Tap, tap, TAP.

Concentrating on the muscles in his left eyebrow he slowly raised his eyelid. A bright yellow light poured through the narrow slit. Snape closed his eye again with a groan and rubbed his face against the hard surface beneath him. He felt rough. His tongue appeared to have been replaced by sandpaper. His second attempt was less of a shock. His retina having adjusted slightly more to the morning sun, Snape ripped his left eye open in one movement. Winking, flooding his eye with a saline fluid that melted away the gunk in it, Snape surveyed his surroundings. Before he turned his attention to opening his right eye, he recognised a sideways view of his kitchen from table height.

Tap, TAP, TAP.

Putting his hands on either side of his head, Snape pushed off pealing his face away from the wooden table. There was a soft flumph on the floor. He slackened his mouth before rubbing his jaw line. He could do with a shave: he must have been out for hours. What had happened to him? Had he been drinking? No, he couldn't have. He didn't keep any Firewhisky or anything of the sort in the house. He looked down at his front. Here was a strange white-ish stain on his chest. Slowly memories began to emerge out of the ether swimming into mental focus just as his kitchen had moments before. Potter crying … accidental magic … healing potion...chocolate. That would have done it.

TAP, TAP, TAP.

"Hmm," he groaned and running his fingers through his hair before placing them back onto the table and turning his attention to his immediate concerns.

Since he had revived, Snape had heard three noises: his groan, the flumph, and the tapping. The first needed no explanation. Swivelling his head downwards he located the second. The source of the flumph had been a duvet. His duvet. It had fallen from his body onto the floor when he moved. He didn't remember having gotten it. Now all he had to do was locate the third, and increasingly persistent, noise.

TAP, TAP… TAP.

Window. Owl. Third found.

Snape walked over to the window, opened it. A giant of an owl cocked its head, twitched its tufty eye crests and stuck out its leg impatiently. Tied to it was a crisp new copy of the Daily Prophet. If the paper was here it must be around 8 am, Snape thought as he rooted in his pocket for a Knut. Luckily he found one, and agilely dropped it into a pouch on the owl's other leg, narrowly avoiding an annoyed nip from the owl's beak. Such birds did not like to be kept waiting. He untied the paper, surveyed the cover and scowled, both at the owl and at the contents of the paper. The owl took this as its signal to depart.

As expected, the photograph in the centre of paper moved. Nothing unusual there. What was unusual was what it depicted. There, with an identification card clasped in his spidery fingers and clad in the uniform of the infamous prison Azkaban, was Bertrum Sligh. The headline read: Sligh Apprehended, Victims Rejoice. This would definitely increase the Prophet's circulation.

Snape knew Sligh well from his days as a Death Eater. When Snape had last encountered him, which was more than ten years ago now, the man wore his nut-coloured hair closely cropped to his scalp and had healthily tanned skin. He was now a changed man. His hair had withered to grey and was raggedy. His skin looked drawn and had a waxy quality to it, the monochrome not showing its yellow twinge. His outward appearance seemed to at last reflect the withered soul within.

Sligh was responsible for a slew of muggle killings in the early eighties eventually graduating to a brace of wizard tortures and executions at the end of that decade. A skilled Legilimens, though unfortunately, for his sake that is, not a talented Occlumens, he had specialised in extracting secrets from "significantly positioned people," as they had been delicately termed. He had never been caught, his gift as Legilimency allowing him to stay one step ahead of his captors. He had gone to ground following the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named. While Sligh had not attended the periodic Death Eater reunions, Snape had heard mention of his name on several occasions through Lucius. Snape's frown deepened. This was something he was going to have to deal with himself, no doubt.

Snape refolded the paper and placed it on the sideboard before turned his attention to a final noise that was conspicuous by its absence: the ambient noise produced by Harry Potter. As, even at 8 am, the boy normally produced such a racket doing "nothing at all", the undisturbed morning peace was eerie. Snape set out round the house, considering his current attitude to the boy. .

As he walked down the hallway Snape placed a hand on the cellar door. It swung open on its hinges – normally it was locked. Ah, that would have been Potter, he ruminated as he went down and looked around. His healing potions had been disturbed. Instead of running weakest to strongest now ran strongest to weakest: evidence of Potter's presence. Potter's action last night, though overzealous, had been the right one. Perhaps his own decision to add chocolate to a heavy dose of potion was not. Potter had needed it though. As there was no Potter down there, Snape left the cellar

Next, he went into the front room. No Potter, but everything appeared strangely…neat. The chair and table which he had repaired the previous evening had been moved back into place. A cushion had been placed on the chintz. Snape went to the cushion and lifted it up, expecting to find a concealed stain. Nothing.

Snape sighed inwardly. He would have to deal with Harry somehow. Last night had ended well for no one. Hopefully he'd find him soon.

Finally, Snape went up the stairs and stood on the small landing. He could not hear any noise from the bathroom. No Potter there then. He could see through the open door into his bedroom, his duvet gone from his bed. No Potter there either. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Pleeeease let him be in his room, Snape mentally begged whoever may be listening.

Slowly he approached the door. He raised his hand letting it wait suspended in the air. He rapped on it twice and paused for a moment that felt like an eternity.

"Come in, Sir."

Snape was gobsmacked.

Snape opened the door and looked to where Harry sat at his desk: he was dressed in fresh clothes; his hair was damp from a shower and appeared to have been combed to a degree, though it was still a mess; and, he had a pen in his hand, paper on the desk and a his crumpled letter from the previous evening in front of him. Harry stood and looked up at Snape shamefaced and nervous. Perhaps because of the news in the morning's paper Snape, or the manner of his waking, Snape appeared even more foreboding than usual and did not smile.

"Potter… I do not remember last night with the greatest clarity. However…"

"Sir, please. I'm sorry sir," Harry interrupted. "Please don't have me expelled, sir. Please!"

Harry had been stewing on the events of the previous evening. Despite what Snape had said last night, he was in serious trouble. You couldn't trust what a man said when he was chasing the healing potion dragon! He'd invaded Snape's privacy, destroyed his property and nearly killed him! What was it that Malfalda Hopkirk had written?: _further spell work on your part may lead to expulsion _and something about a _serious offence_under some law or other. He'd broken the law and would be "going down" (another phase he'd picked up from the television) if Snape told anyone. If he could just be good enough when Snape came round then maybe, just maybe, Snape wouldn't have him expelled from Hogwarts, put in prison, or sent back to the Dursleys. All three scenarios appeared to be a fate worse than death to Harry.

Following Snape's … accident… Harry had become very busy. He'd gone upstairs and brought Snape's bedding down of him to make sure that he didn't get cold. He'd then gone to the cellar and put the bottles back in their place from where he'd left them, even making sure that they were neatly ordered. Finally, he straightened the living room before returning to the scene of the crime, his bedroom. There was not any more evidence of the previous night's events to blot out.

"Do not interrupt me Potter!"

Harry hanged his head. He'd blown it. His efforts in the house, his combed hair, it had all been for nothing. Tears welled-up in his eyes.

"As I was saying, I do not remember last night with the greatest clarity. However, I do recall you acting with great prescience of mind. While you might have been overzealous in SOME regards," Snape placed special emphasis on SOME alluding to not only the healing potion but also Harry's temper. "You were not … wholly to blame."

Now Harry was gobsmacked. He jaw dangled down.

"Do close your mouth, Potter, before something nests in there."

Harry closed his mouth with a snap. "So, I'm not going to be sent away anywhere."

"No, Potter."

"Not away from school?"

"No. Potter."

"And…" said Harry softly, "Not from here."

"No. Not from here," for an instance, Snape was tender.

There was a rare comfortable silence between the pair of them. It was only broken by a sudden rumble from Harry's stomach.

"Err…Can I have some breakfast, please Sir?"

"Potter you are not an extra on the set from _Oliver!_ Stop looking like some half-starved waif and get down to the kitchen," admonished Snape, though only lightly.

"Yes, sir."

Hearing the fromp, fromp, fromp, of Harry's feet down the stairs, Snape looked up to the ceiling. It was going to be a long day. Still, the school term started in 2 weeks what more could happen!

Snape took a final look at Harry's room and noticed the letters on the desk: the new and the old. This time he restrained himself from reading. However, it did remind him of his own letter that he must attend to. With that thought on his mind he turned on his heal and went to retrieve and read Dumbledore's letter.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Snape entered the kitchen to see the table laid and Harry standing on a chair stretching up precariously to reach the top-shelf of the kitchen cupboard.

"Potter, get down from there this instant."

Harry's hand came down and he wobbled unsteadily on the chair. Moments before he had been so happy: he was going to make breakfast, he would demonstrate he had good manners, and Snape would remain in a good mood. As his feet were placed back on the ground, he came back down to earth. Snape was Snape, and would always be so.

"I was just trying to get-"

"It was not what you were trying to get, it was the means by which you were trying to get it! I would have thought that if recent events had taught you nothing else, it would be not to stand on anything of a height where, if you were to fall, you could break your neck. Or do I need to rebreak your arm."

Harry gulped and blushed with shame. The not too subtle reference to his recent behaviour was definitely not lost on him.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"What were you trying to get," said Snape, reaching past Harry towards the cupboard.

"The pan."

"The pan? And what were you going to do with the pan."

"Cook us breakfast…sir?"

"So you were going to complete your morning gymnastics routine by attempting to either poison me or set my house on fire."

"I'm good and cooking. I have to do it all the time at the Dursley's!"

Snape frowned at this. A child of Harry's age should not be expected to cook meals for the family. "Well Mr. Potter, you shall not be cooking anything in this house unless I am present to supervise you. Do you understand?"

Harry frowned crossly. He was not a child and did not need constant supervision. However, he held his tongue. He did not think that the best way of demonstrating that would be to enter into an argument or do something in a fit of pique he might later regret.

"Sna- er. Sir, as you are here now, can I keep going? I have already started."

Noting that Harry had held his temper and caught himself in the act of calling him Snape, Severus agreed.

As Harry went about the kitchen, with Snape getting everything that Harry required that was stored above his reach, Snape had to acknowledge that he was doing a good job. When his meal was finally presented to him he did not have to fear food poisoning: it was cooked to perfection.

"Potter, if you are able to cook a meal like this, why can you not beat Miss Granger in my potions class?"

Harry stared blankly. "I don't understand, sir."

"The question or potions?" said Snape with a twitch of a grin.

"Both."

"Well, the distance between cooking and potions is remarkably small. While the instructions may be more… nuanced in the latter, both require patience, skill, dexterity, practice. The question remains, why are your potion marks not higher when you can cook?...well?"

Harry was not going to be able to escape giving an answer. The trick was going to be remaining both honest and polite…

"Well…sir…I think maybe in potions lessons at school… I'm not always paying as much attention to the work as I should be." He didn't have to say that this was usually because he either had to parry attempts at sabotage, launched by the Slytherins; was intimidated by Snape hovering over his shoulder making snide remarks about the quality of his scholarship; or, that he was often talking with his friends.

"I think that will change with the start of term, don't you?" said Snape forebodingly.

"Yes, sir."

Once they had both finished eating, Snape said, "Today you shall read chapter 2 of the book I gave you. That is if you have finished the first chapter on the Babbling Beverage?"

Harry nodded.

"Go get your notes and show me."

Snape took the respite from Harry's presence to get Dumbledore's response to his letter.

On reflection, the letter Snape had composed to Dumbledore had been less than measured in tone. Though fundamentally the content had accurately depicted events and communicated the goings on in Spinner's End up to that point - the plot, Harry's situation at the Dursley's and his present position in Snape's house – they lacked the finesse and subtlety worthy of the Head of Slytherin House. The words he had written, above all those of "impudent", "inconsiderate" and "holiday camp" stood out particularly boldly in Snape's mind. The way he had represented Harry's character had perhaps, and just perhaps, in the light of last night's events, not been wholly accurate. It was therefore with a sigh that he opened Dumbledore's letter and read:

_Dear Severus,_

_ I hope that Hedwig was not too fatigued on her return. I was glad to receive your letter and appreciated its length: my response is far briefer._

_ Harry's revelations confirm two of my conviction. Firstly, that he is safest with you. Your position is a unique one, Severus. I do not believe that in certain circles it can be generally believed that the-boy-who-lived will be residing with you. As such, that is where he shall be remaining. _

_ Secondly, it reaffirms by beliefs about Harry's nature. He is not a dishonest boy, though as your representations suggest, he is disposed to the follies of youth. Yet, this is not a predisposition confined solely to the genus Potter. I should not have to remind you Severus that we were all young once and that our decisions are neither always considered nor prudent! You must remember that Harry is merely a 12-year old boy and therefore subject to the general limitations of his age. _

_ On a darker note, you should expect further communication from my shortly. Any mention of a plot at Hogwarts is not to be ignored especially when seen in the wider context of recent events. _

_ Sincerely,_

_ Albus_

_P.S. I have always thought that Hogwarts should offer summer camps for its students. I'm sure if nothing else the parents would enjoy a brief sojourn free of the sprogs. I trust I can sign you as a camp leader? _

Snape closed his eyes. The thought of a summer camp populated entirely by the Weasley's progeny for him to supervise for the summer would haunt him. The one Potter boy was more than enough, he thought as Potter returned to the room with his sheet of notes and the book. Harry looked with great curiosity at the letter, but didn't say anything.

Snape scrutinised the book and the notes. Both met with his approval.

"Potter what is the principal ingredient for a Babbling Potion? And how long should it be brewed for?"

"Distilled, fermented potato and 30 minutes for brewing. The preparation takes about 10 minutes and the potatoes can take up to 3 months to be fermented so that they are strong enough."

"Hmm… Very well. The second chapter is the Grand Wiggenweld Potion."

"Sir, didn't I study this last year?"

"Potter given your mark in my class last year I think you will benefit from any revision and besides… first years study the Wiggenweld Potion not the Grand Wiggenweld Potion which, if you paid attention, you would know. This will be both a revision and an extension. You have until lunch to complete your study of it."

"Then what will we do."

"We'll see."

Harry turned to go.

"Potter, would you like to know what is in the letter."

Harry thought for a moment.

"If it's important you will tell me."

* * *

The Headmaster's heels clicked neatly on the stone floor as he walked down the corridor alone. At each doorway he read both the name that was etched there and glanced through the barred window, as if to confirm the rooms' contents. In doing so he mentally ticked off the names of the men and women he had a personal association with, either through having placed them there or from having lost a friend to them. In too many cases both conditions were fulfilled. Le Strange, Avery … Black. The last name caused particular pain.

Dumbledore had visited Azkaban enough times to know who would be a long-term inmate, and who would pass out of its doors more quickly. This passing out could be due to release or death. When Dumbledore reached the entrance to his destination he took a precursory glance through the window. In the far corner of the room, the furthest point possible from the pall cast by the Dementors, was a figure. He knew at once that of the man would be passing out of Azkaban soon, and by the latter cause. The figure was crumpled, like a paper cup in the aftermath of a party: its limbs were bunched together and static, a great force holding them in place; its head hung downwards from a similar pressure. While Sligh had been in the company of the Dementors for only a few hours, he bore the time as if it had been years. Black, in comparison, appeared in a far better condition, reflected Dumbledore.

Dumbledore opened the cell door and looked down his long crooked nose and the man. The glib light that filtered into the cell reflected off of his half-moon spectacles. The almost ever present twinkle in his blue eyes was absent. Following his receipt of Snape's letter, Dumbledore had worked unceasingly to discover further facts about the plot. As he had written in his letter to Snape, he did not feel that the boy's story had been exaggerated and treated his report extremely seriously. He had therefore embarked on a series of actions of which this moment was the culmination. He was feeling old.

His first action had been a quick call on Mundungus Fletcher. The man usually had his fingers in several, often dubious, pies. While Dumbledore was not concerned about the content of many of them, he was not, after all, the Minister of Magic, his knowledge did provide him with some leverage over the little man. As he had outlined none too obliquely to Mundungus, it would be most unfortunate were the Ministry to hear about any of his business ventures, particularly those in relation to the Muggle population. After that Mundungus had been most forth coming, telling Dumbledore that Malfoy had recently been unloading some of his "collection" on the market, causing a "dip in the value of many of my products," to use the words of Fletcher.

"Was there anything particularly unusual that Malfoy is looking to dispose of?" Dumbledore had enquired.

"The usual Egyptian artefacts and cursed curios," replied Fletcher. After a pause he added, "Of course it's not always what he's trying to sell that can be interesting."

Dumbledore remained silent.

"Sometimes the company you keep can be Sligh-tly more illuminating."

The caesura had not been lost on Dumbledore. Mundungus was a classic low level "businessman" who would always stick the knife into a competitor, even when it wasn't necessary. He had been more that obliging that night. "Thank you Mr. Fletcher. I think that all of my questions for you have been answered."

Mundungus exhaled a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Dumbledore was a great and powerful wizard, but also one that should not be crossed. Maybe this action had bought him a favour.

Dumbledore's second port of call was to go to the Ministry of Magic: a prodigious institution that owed Dumbledore more than one favour. Once inside, Dumbledore went straight to the office of veteran Auror, Alastor Moody. Moody had made many sacrifices in his long years of service to the wizarding world, including a leg, an eye and a chunk of his nose. While Moody had said on numerous occasions that his magical eye, at least, was an advantage to his work, these benefits did not mitigate the pain that had been involved in how it was acquired. As a result, Moody had a personal vendetta against Sligh, the man who was central to its acquisition.

"Alastor, I have some good news for you."

Moody grunted gruffly. Since the fall of Voldemort and the rapid removal or reformation of his supporters, work at the Auror office had slowed. In fact these days, more than 10 years on from the end of the war, his and the other Aurors' work was confined largely to chasing down rumours of sightings and flagrant hoaxes. Many of the clippings from the Prophet and Muggle papers were yellow and faded. Genuine plots were rare.

"Some news on a Mr Sligh."

This got Moody's attention.

"From what source."

"A reliable one. He was seen with our good friend Mr Malfoy, an upstanding citizen you understand."

Again, this elicited a grunt from Moody, followed by, "Well, I certainly know what company Malfoy continues to keep, however discrete he may attempt to make it."

With that Moody left his office.

The final and most gratifying place which Dumbledore visited had been the home of Mr and Mrs Weasley.

By this point it was late. The majority of the family were either in bed and asleep or in the process of being so. Mrs Weasley was the exception. Upon Dumbledore's entry he was quickly presented with a steaming hot mug of tea and, after she had fetched her husband, a plate of sausage sandwiches.

"Arthur, I have some information about a friend of yours… Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh."

"Yes. He is looking to sell some items that I am certain that your office will be interested in. Now it will mean a late return to the office…"

"I'll get dressed."

Dumbledore smiled.

"Thank you for the sandwiches, Molly."

All of this Dumbledore had done since receiving the letter. It was therefore with a sigh that he went to the corner where Sligh was huddled, bent down and grabbed his chin. In one swift movement he lifted the man's head forcing him to look into his eyes.

* * *

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	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Dumbledore's eyes locked onto Sligh's. With ease Dumbledore pushed his mind forward and entered Sligh's thoughts and memories. At once he experienced the sensations he had been through many times before, those of instantaneous compression and expansion. While Snape was able to skim the surface of a person's mind, sometimes penetrating quite deeply into someone's past, as a master of Legimancy Dumbledore was able to use another's mind the same way he used a pensive. He could quite literally step into the hallways of a mind and walk their lengths. It was with a slight suctioning noise and a pop that Dumbledore arrived and looked around himself.

He stood in a cavernous entrance hall of a great house that was in a state of disrepair. The marble floor was bisected by a great crack which descended into a bottomless nowhere; to the left and right lay corridors, which seemed to stretch to infinity; before him was a stairway which was missing numerous rungs and did not seem to have a top. It was a dirty, uncared-for place in which everything was moving, bending. With each oscillation the crack in the floor widened.

Instinctively Dumbledore turned to the right and walked down the corridor. This corridor was better lit that then one in Azkaban, but was equally unsettling. Its walls warped forwards and backwards as if someone were manipulating a large piece of stiff cardboard. Worse were the noises. From behind each of the doors he walked past emerged disturbing sounds: sometimes screams, sometimes whimpers, sometimes not the sound of anything human. No doubt each room contained a record of Sligh's past.

Eventually Dumbledore found himself drawn to a door. In between the louder more disturbing emissions from the other rooms he could just discern the low murmur of chattering voices. Knowing he would not be seen by the rooms occupants Dumbledore grasped the handle and entered.

The dining room, in which Dumbledore now stood, had once been exquisitely decorated with thick-set flock wallpaper, an olive wood dining suite and a bespoke silver service. Now, the wallpaper peeled off the walls, the dining suite was incomplete and chipped, while the silver service was tarnished to a dull black. The edges of the room bulged forward and backwards as they had in the corridor causing the furniture and inhabitants of the room to bend and move. The room's three occupants two human and one house elf were distorted as if they were reflections from a house of mirrors. As the house elf cleared the remains of a meal for three from the blackened silver service its arms grew and shrank, while its head ballooned and deflated.

All the while the men continued their conversation, oblivious.

"So, Graves, it will happen on the 9th?" queried Sligh.

"Yes, the 9th" the red face man replied, his cheeks became brighter and darker as the room shifted.

"And the plan…"

Dumbledore frowned. The men's voices were slow and distorted. On occasion they were out of sync with their mouths.

"The plan remains the same as"

What the plan remained the same as was interrupted by the sudden collapse of the house elf. While carrying the stack of blackened plates and cutlery, he had lurched forward, as if he had been kicked. He had sent himself and his load flying across the room. In a blurred yet slow motion the elf fled.

No… something is not right here, thought Dumbledore.

"On the 9th we shall leave this place and assume our positions at Hogsmede and Kings Cross. Once he is through the barrier we shall." Noise ceased to come out of Sligh's mouth, though his lips continued to move.

Dumbledore frowned and withdrew from Sligh's mind. No. Those were not true memories. The 9th was after the start of term. Harry would be safely in school by then. Why would Sligh and Graves be going to Kings Cross and Hogsmede? He looked down at Sligh who was smiling.

"Can't blame a man for trying?" said Sligh weakly.

"No I suppose one can't," said Dumbledore as he drew his wand. With an easy motion he charmed Sligh and made a second entry to his mind.

This time the entrance hall of Sligh's mind remained stationary. There was not crack in the floor and the staircases and corridors remained finite. Once more Dumbledore went to the corridor on the right. The torturous noises continued to emit from the rooms. Once more he arrived at the door to the room he had previously entered.

The door opened onto an opulently decorated dining room. An olive wood dining-table carried the remnants of a recently eaten meal served on an antique and highly polished silver service. Three place settings were being cleared by a downtrodden, round-eyed house elf. The elf was steering clear of the two men in the room: one was Sligh; the other Dumbledore now knew to be Graves. The elf balanced the last of the table setting onto of the pile in his hands and made his way out of the room. Nothing lay between the house elf and the door but suddenly, and for no apparent reason, it lurched forward as if kicked, landing on its face and sending the silver plates and cutlery over the floor. Picking itself up, it uttered self-reproaching apologies and hurried away as quickly as he could gather what he'd dropped.

"On the 29th then."

Dumbledore smiled. He had been blocking information then: a relatively simple subterfuge.

"Yes, the 29th."

"And the plan…"

"The plan remains the same as always. You and I shall assume our positions between Hogsmede and Kings Cross and wait. The train shall be coming through a few days after that. Once Potter is on board, and the train has left the station, we will get on the train. We will do this in the middle of the journey."

"Why is that?"

"Why do you think, you idiot? So we are as far from Kings Cross and Hogwarts, and any fully qualified witches and wizards as possible….Anyway, the supplies will have been hidden beforehand by"

Suddenly Sligh stopped speaking, almost as if he were cut off.

"Yes well, we needn't go on any further… When the train leaves the station we will be ready for Potter.

"And the other children?

"What about them."

Dumbledore pulled back from Sligh's mind, stood up and turned from the room. He had all he needed. Sligh's physical form slumped backwards onto the floor. It was only the Kiss which awaited him now.

Dumbledore cast Sligh a final glance before leaving. A visit to Snape was in order.

A warm mid-day breeze wafted around the garden, puffing the odd cloud across the sky, stirring the trees gently before drifting into Snape's kitchen. The man himself was at the sink, washing the dishes from lunch, and enjoying the cooling effect of the light wind. Aside from the protection they offered, Snape's wards dampened almost all of the ambient noise from the rough area in which he lived and ensured his garden remained idyllically calm: the neighbours were silent, their pit-bull terriers asleep, and their God-awful children stupefied by the heat and a day's mischief. Errol's arrival was therefore a great surprise and disturbance, as he came cannoning through one of Snape's bushes and crashing onto the kitchen table, having narrowly missed the window-sash. The owl certainly made a grand entrance.

The "feather duster" shuddered violently before, with massive effort, righting itself and puffing itself out to its greatest extent: a shower of leaves fell out from his down and collected beneath him. Snape scowled at the owl but quickly left his washing up and fetched it some water and owl food. The poor bird looked worse-for-wear to say the least. Snape removed the owl's letter it was for Harry and from Ron; he recognised the youngest Weasley boy's scrawl. He placed the letter on top of the notes Harry had made from his morning's study of the Grand Wiggenweld Potion. Not bad, but with scope for improvement. Hopefully the boy would retain enough of it so that, when he came to actually produce the potion in a classroom setting, it wouldn't be a total disaster.

"Harry," Snape called, once he'd finished the washing up.

"Yes, sir," Harry's head appeared from around the corner. He'd been set the task of moving all the furniture in the living room to its edges. They would need all the space they could get for their lesson that afternoon.

"You have a letter. From Mr Weasley I believe."

"Great" said Harry, grabbing the letter from where Snape had indicated it was and ripped it open. Harry's eyes zipped from left to right, clearly not struggling with Ron's chicken scratch-like handwriting the way Snape did when he had to grade the boy's homework. Looking at Harry, Snape smiled. While he had not had the pleasure of friends when he had been Potter's age, with the exception of his troubled relationship with Lily, he did take enjoyment in Harry's excitement. It was good that the boy had those around him which he cared about, and who cared for him.

"Sir, you'll never believe what happened!"

"And what, pray tell, has?" said Snape, a deadpan expression across his face.

"Ron's dad got in a massive fight with Draco Malfoy's father in Flourish and Blott's in Diagon Alley! AND it got into the paper. There was this book signing and it all kicked off. Ron's dead chuffed."

Snape frowned, "Lucius Malfoy is a powerful man in the ministry.

"So?"

"It is not good to be seen to stand against him. He has many … powerful friends."

"Ron says that Malfoy's family was in with Voldem-."

"Do NOT say the Dark Lord's name!" snapped Snape thunderously.

"But-"

Snape's previous feelings of pleasure towards the boy were instantly dispelled. "You are an ignorant little boy who does not comprehend the reach of the Dark Lord's power. So long as you are under this roof, so long as you are at Hogwarts, you will not say his name.

"Saying Vol Harry was cut off mid-sentence as bubbles foamed from his mouth.

Snape lowered the wand he had raised in less than a heart-beat. "I warned you, Potter, not to say that name."

Harry looked at Snape, his eyes wide and watery. He had been stunned into silence, the man's actions had been so sudden. Snape suddenly seemed as big and scary as ever.

"Corner. Now."

Shaking a little, Harry turned and obeyed. Facing the corner he sniffed wetly, swallowed and grimaced in disgust. He raised his hand and wiped the worst of the suds from his mouth, drying his hand on his jumper. How could something that was so fragrant and pleasant have the ability to chemically burn his tongue?

Harry sniffed again. Why couldn't he listen to what Snape said, and apply it? Surely he could avoid getting himself into trouble? He knew that on this matter the man's feelings were the same as the majority of the wizarding world's: you do not say Voldemort's name. Though he agreed far more with Hermione and Dumbledore that fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself clearly Snape did not.

Snape glowered at the back of Harry's head and reflected on what the boy had told him about Mr Malfoy. Lucius was not the kind of man to resort to physical violence far too much or a Slytherin for that. Even in his most active days as a Death Eater the man had rarely dirtied his hands. He had men such as Sligh for things like that. No, the man was certainly plotting something, though what was not yet clear. What was apparent was that it involved Mr Weasely, though the man was most likely unaware of this.

Fifteen minutes went by before Snape called Harry back from the corner.

"Dumbledore says said Harry before Snape could open his mouth. A look from Snape made him instantly regret it.

"The headmaster is a far more powerful wizard than you. How he decides to conduct himself should not always be a measure of whether it is appropriate for you to do the same." Snape paused. Harry looked like he was going to say something, but didn't. "Now… Shall you use His name again?"

Harry sucked on his lower lip and cast his eyes around the room before settling on the kitchen table. He would use the name again. He had a closer relationship with Voldemort than Snape ever had. He was entitled to use his name if anyone was. But how to answer in a way that was at once honest, but also not going to get him killed? Ahh…

"I shall not use His name, while I am in your house, sir."

Snape almost laughed, but managed to maintain his frosty exterior. The boy was learning, a response that genuinely walked the line between honesty, self-preservation and cheek. He truly would have done well in Slytherin, though Snape doubted that a year ago he would have been able to brook the boy's presence in his school House. It was therefore with a wry smile that Snape raised an eyebrow and said,

"Very good, Mr Potter."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He'd dodged the hex. Now to really push his luck:

"Umm… sir, what are we going to learn this afternoon? I've finished rearranging the living room."

Snape looked to the heavens. "Get into the front room. I'll be there in a minute."


End file.
